Tuesday, November 26, 2013

If you don't have an iPhone this probably won't be funny. Actually, no one will think it's funny. don't read this.

The top button stopped working. 
The spring inside busted so to make it work I had to mash down on it like trying to pop a really strong stink bug as a child. This is the only experience I can relate it to. If you've never done this I apologize. Try pushing a clicky ball point pen back into itself from the writing side with your finger. It's like that. 
And just Saturday night the main button started jamming electronically without assistance. 

That's fun. 
If you don't have an iphone, this won't make sense,
 but if you do...

It's pretty fun because it goes straight to voice control and then assumes from whatever noise it hears that I want to FaceTime people I haven't talked to in years. During these flurries of "voice control" people turn to see why I'm too stupid to remember to silence my phone in quiet public spaces like church.
 I mash down uselessly on the busted top button to try and shut it off. But the main button thinks I'm pushing them both so my frantic mashing only results in numerous screen shots of what time it is. 
When it finally registers that I would like to power off, not avoid the arduous work of dialing by fingertip, I let go of the top button to slide the onscreen slider to "off", but the main button is engaged again cuz it's on full auto. 

So the red slider disappears. We go back to "voice control".
...

I frantically mash the stupid broken top button some more while trying to block the speaker port with my remaining fingers cuz it's going to keep beeping to let me know it's listening.

I finally succeed in getting the red "slide this to kill your phone" bar. 
With surprising dexterity, my free pinky ducks in from behind my pointer and ring fingers to slide the red bar of death and the phone goes silent. 

All around me are sincerely perturbed at my egotistical noise making.  But I sink back in my seat as pure relief washes over me. I've slain the dragon. 
stupid.

Turns out extended warranties aren't as useless as I supposed. 



Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Online dating: the true battlefield where hearts bleed and love and make matches in our tossup dog eat dog world these days


If you need to impress the woman you've met online, here's another wonderful example of how to address to impress:

 I seem to feel through the force that you are a woman of class and distinction who certainly can enjoy a good burrito. I happen to know how to make you a burrito because I used to work at Taco Bell before I got fired, and my neighbor is a mexican. If you like them hot, I don't know how to do that because I don't have that kind of mayonnaise. I hope you don't mind a man with cats because I have- well, its summer so they're breeding again. Not sure how many but there's a lot. Women who love animals love me. Especially if they love some good anime because my collections are bursting. Shoot, if I had a TV it would be amazing. We could watch them on it. I hope you like being treated right because that's the only way I know how to do things and I like to do back massages so don't worry your pretty head about that. I found a magazine article about it and practiced all the moves in it so you won't have anything to worry about. I'm pretty much at an expert to professional level right now. But don't worry, back rubs for my girlfriend are free. Yes that job title is available right now, in case you were wondering... 

Hope to hear from you soon cupcake.
Really soon actually because this isn't my computer. Its not even my house right now. I'm staying at my cousin's because the landlord said we had to evacuate due to a "roach exterminator" needing to come bomb the trailer under a fog tent. 
Yeah right. It's just his brother-in-law. They said we had an "infestation" because there were a few roaches in the cats' room. 
Anyway, be cool chick. Be cool. Stay real. And don't be teal. 
See ya on the flip. Babe. 
P.S. Make sure you include your favorite type of snack or chip dip because I want to surprise you with it on our first date. 

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Online Dating: How to craft that first hello!


I have really horrendously bad BO and so the online dating scene is the only way I can lock somebody into an hour or two long date sitting in my car at the Sonic eating jalapeƱo cheese fries. If that goes well I usually flip on the late night AM talk show about secret government conspiracies, ghosts, and aliens. I haven't gotten any girls to want to yet, but if you play your cards right I'll even take you back to my place to watch a few hours of VHS tape I've got recorded of tv static with messages from another dimension. I spend a lot of time watching static for messages and I record them on VHS tape. That's why I have hours of VHS tape. Its like a journey through a snowy tunnel into another world. the voices are amazing. 
Also I hope you aren't allergic to cats because right now I'm not sure how many there are because its spring and they're breeding again. I just leave a window open for them to go in and out through. My mom thinks I should get new carpet because of all the urine stains but hey! Everything pees. except trees. But they're outside anyway so who would be able to tell?!
I hope you don't think I'm a hoarder because I'm not. My mom tries to convince me I am by sending me tv shows on dvd of people who "supposedly" hoard. Its such a hoax. They go in and try to say that because somebody stacked something up next to a door, its hoarding. But the people in those shows are totally normal! They don't even have a lot of stuff! Its pretty dumb to claim someone has a hoarding problem just because they don't use their front door anymore. That's where they store things! . Duh!
If I had more room, I'd use my back room for an exercise room. I've been thinking about getting a situp unit off the TV to get into shape. I called yesterday but they wanted a credit card number to charge it to and mine is already overdrawn. I thought they would just sign me up for payments later on but they wanted the $39.99 right now. So stupid. Who keeps that kind of money around?! Do you have any idea how much you could get at 7Eleven on that?! 
 I better go. one of my cats is making a lot of noise. I hope they aren't eating it. I came home from Kmart the other day and two of my cats had been eaten alive by the other ones. Its just how cats are sometimes. I guess they need more food. I usually borrow it from my neighbors but they're in town this week. 
K. Look forward to meeting you! Bye!
My mom's boyfriend Creddick, me, and my mom. mom usually smiles less but she was drunk when the police took these pictures. 

Monday, March 11, 2013

The trouble with peripheral vision or How to pick yer... nevermind. just read it.

A disclaimer for people who haven't been to one of these kinds of church meetings:
The LDS church is organized into your regular congregation of like 150 people called a ward. You meet with them on sunday. Its just what they call the group within that geographic boundary. About 7 to 10 wards all put together on a map form a bigger entity called a stake. And so there's a church meeting every year called stake conference where everybody you normally go to church with meets with everybody else from all the other wards in your stake for a big fat meeting. This is a 2 hour meeting. Because all the churches are the same size pretty much, they have to open the back of the chapel and put up folding metal chairs back in the basketball court area of the church cuz most of our meeting houses are designed this way. As a kid these meetings were the worst time of your life because we always got there late so we were in the back. The speaker at the stand seemed about a mile away and the time seemed to drag on forever causing your lower extremities to go numb on the hard metal chairs. There. I think that summarizes the experience to get everybody up to speed. 

Today was stake conference. I got there as the meeting began and counted myself lucky as I snatched up a last open seat on the back row of the chapel. It was actually the very first row of the far left corner of the overflow that stretched far back into that darkened no-man's-land of buttocks-numbing agony.  
I had one empty seat beside me and upon glancing at the girl next to that one figured there was no one outside waiting to claim these as "saved for them"
I asked and she confirmed it. She's kind of a strange soul. Not sure how I've met her before but I have. I found out after things really got rolling that the row behind us was occupied by a young family guarded mostly by doting grandparents. There would be no discipline in this meeting. The young children already knew. 

I didn't mind so much except that the little boy, perhaps 6, kept charging back and forth behind my chair. It had to be some form of relay between his mother at one end and Grandma behind me- a fine way to pass the time. The problem wasn't the rustling papers, the hurried footsteps, or maniacal laughter, but that the kid couldn't make it past my chair without running into it somehow. Each hard kick rocked me slightly. heavy kid. I was surprised none of these were followed by the sound of a gleeful smile smearing across the floor behind me. I can't say I didn't wait hopefully. I soon learned to phase out these tiny interruptions like the ticks of a second hand on an expensive timepiece. There was an almost calming rhythm to it all. 

But then the interruptions really started as my darned peripheral vision began to alert me of the tiny commotion two seats away. The girl had pulled up a bag and was digging through frantically. She pulled a women's wallet out and poured through its contents. I directed my eyes back at the meeting not wanting to intrude. Maybe she'd lost a sugar glider. Soon she'd finished every compartment and cranny of that bag. Sighing she set one of the bags on the empty seat between us. 
There was a hymnal there next to her so lest I mistakenly think she'd moved it towards me as a gift, she set the black purse next to me. My personal space shrank slightly. The other bag hit the deck as she jerked up a small backpack… the tiny kind. Zip zip zip! Went the zippers on the bags as the 6 year old special olympian kicked my seat in time to the beating of my heart. 

Soon, somehow, the family behind us were called to action. She'd turned to them and they were handing her something. Ah. A fat wad of kleenex. It was running mucus which had caused the frantic search through every bag she owned. How had she left that out? Well I settled back in hoping I could now focus my undying attention on the stand.
But once again, my peripheral vision was revealing sights I could not make sense of.

 The girl was not blowing her nose.
 Instead the wad of kleenex was in her hand and she seemed to be tying knots or petting it. I flicked my pupils over for a look. She was twisting the kleenex carefully over and over itself to create a small finger sized cone. My face did one of those truly original acrobatic moves. It amazed my own eyebrows. I riveted my attention to the front but the motion out of the side was just continuing as she twisted and rolled and rolled this small work of ingenuity that was surely destined to rival the tool-building culture of Jane Goodall's chimpanzees that do that thing with a blade of grass to get termites out of the mound. 
I wished for a second that my nose was bigger as I closed my right eye to see if I could block my vision without my hands, but no, I could still see the wad of tissues. And I felt stupid sitting with one eye closed wondering if the people on the stand would think I was going to sleep. 

I opened it in time to see the next action unfortunately. 
I'll describe what I saw through the blurry undefined fabric of my cursed peripheral vision. The white wad of tissues were raised to the pinkish area where her face was. With some effort it appeared the "device" lined up with the shaft. It took marvelous amounts of twisting evidenced by the raised elbows and ducking head to get it inserted far enough up there. And all without actually getting any of her fingers close to the holes. I suppose this was what she was trying to avoid. Someone must have commented on her last adventure up there in public. Hence the stealth. I tried to ignore now and calm my feeble stomach as the twisting and ducking continued. Once finished the same soulful effort was employed to remove it. I hoped only one nostril required attention. My prayers were denied. So I think if anyone from the stand had looked down, they'd have noticed a slight twitch and squinting on my part as if I'd found some distraction in the ceiling tiles to my left over the door of the chapel. I stayed that way as long as I thought might be necessary to thoroughly clean the other orifice. But I misjudged and brought my eyes back too early. The other "homemade finger" had just gotten free and now the beast was holding both in her left hand wondering how best to release them into the wild. At this point I tried to look as humble and undisturbed as everyone else in the meeting as she was glancing my way now, but not because she'd noticed any temptation to flee in my countenance but because her closest bag…
 was sitting there between us…
 closer to me…
with the top open...

Monday, January 28, 2013

And a tall bearded fellow shouted, "I come to you at the turn of the tide!"


A sweaty man in a badly fitting short sleeved white shirt rushed up the long aisle-way to the front of the cathedral. As he ran, huffing and puffing, The alter at the front became visible. The orange box gleamed in a dust-speckled single shaft of sunlight. Reaching the alter, the congregation gasped in suspense. He mopped his brow and re-pocketed the sopping wet handkerchief. Carefully, cautiously, and with all care and gentle dexterity he hovered his fingertips over the edges of the bright orange detergent box. An old man cleared his throat distracting everyone terribly. A moment's pause to refocus himself and with a whip of his wrists the box was turned exactly 179 degrees to reveal the bright letters spelling out "TIDE." 

The man turned slowly around as the magnitude of this magnificent feat donned on him and his bodily functions like pulse rate and breathing returned. A gentle applause crescendoed throughout the cathedral. Whistles and shouts soon joined in. 

The sweat-stained man began to raise his arms and a triumphant grin appeared on the pasty white face of his shiny white head gleaming in that dust speckled single shaft of daylight. 

Just at this greatest of all great moments of relief, triumph, and success, the terrible joke fate had waited to spring, suddenly sprung. 

The detergent box shuddered ever so slightly, and then dropped exactly two inches into the alter on the trigger plate positioned with precision planning on the part of ancient detergent nuns thousands of centuries ago. 

The audience gasped as an aged old lady let go of her walker, covering her mouth with one hand and pointing a rickety finger from the other at the suddenly wide eyed sweat-stained man standing now in a shadow at the alter of the cathedral. 

A single feminine, "Oourp." escaped his thin lips before the 13 ton boulder quarried from the mountains of Carrara for the well known sculpter Michelangelo which was stolen by the nuns and replaced with a cheap secondhand boulder that happened to have a David in it- completed its freefall from ceiling to floor.

The bottom half of the boulder, the sweat stained man, the orange box, and the entire alter disappeared as they were driven instantly into the center of the earth by the top half of the boulder wich remained silent in a single shaft of daylight. 

An old man's stomach grizzled out one of those winding growls that swizzles its way around the entire stomach wall several times before bouncing around in the intestinal tract for a few lingering gurgles. Everyone pondered a moment longer the meaning of what they'd just seen. Then all at once everyone of them stood up, put on their coats and went home to eat. 

And that was the turn of the tide.

Friday, March 16, 2012

Thursday, November 3, 2011

The Gym

Often times older people come to the gym. for whatever reason they always say yes when they sign up and get asked if they want to pay extra for a trainer. 

The trainer leads them over to the ellipticals and explains to them, "This is an elliptical. You get on it by putting your feet on those foot shaped pedals and you hold on to those ski pole things with your hands." 

The person climbs on uneasily and tries to make it go. It's awkward- like newborn calf awkward. The trainer smiles, "Good! See? Just like walking. do that for an hour. " They go back to the desk. 


Well this fella comes to the gym in his stone washed jeans and rugged outback sneaker/boots. He's got the same shaggy brown haircut he got after he saw the Beatles back in 65. He's wearing really thick glasses, the kind you can't see through from this side. so his eyes are kinda magnified wich makes his confused expression more pronounced. 

They stick him on the machine a few down from me and leave him there. 

Now the nice thing about the gym is that all the ellipticals and treadmills have a TV attached with a little headphone jack so you can plug in and channel surf your hour away. The controls are fairly simple to figure out. There's a power button, a hole for the headphone cord, and two arrows for channel and volume. They're pretty prominent too since they're on a separate box bolted to the control panel on the machine. 

I'm watching my own screen with my headphones in, not really paying attention, but I start noticing this guy's leaning over weird trying to see around his screen and messing with the buttons on the machine. After a minute or two more of this "wrestling match"- reminds me of the old Nature programs when the cheetah finally catches up to the antelope and has to kind of jump on/start eating, except he  doesn't do it so gracefully. I guess he was pretty exasperated. He shouts out to the trainer at the desk, "Hey How do you get some television on this thing!!!" the trainer comes over and I guess decides he'll be safer sitting on a recumbent stationary bike. As he staggers off toward the bikes, I notice The big white T-shirt he's wearing. Looks like it has a marijuana leaf on it. I wondered though because I'm going off illustrations on the bathroom walls in  junior high. And the guy's at least 47. You don't really expect that from this age group. Then I saw the slogan. In big green letters it stated, "Don't step on the grass!!!" 
Good outfit for the gym. 

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

The Worst Restaurant EVER


I like trying new things
...with food anyway.

 Probably because last Christmas was my first experience with Sushi and I love it. I need to include that fact since what I'm about to tell you would be negative no matter how good the food was if I distrusted unfamiliar foods. I don't. So what I'm going to tell you is doubly disgusting if you do.

And now the story of how I found the worst restaurant I've ever been to in my life.

My cousin told me about this little Sushi place downtown with half off Tuesdays and Thursdays. Most people don't trust half price sushi in a landlocked state 700 miles from the beach, but Sharlene and I were feeling adventurous so we went looking for it.

We found a window along the street with a few flags I didn't recognize and somewhere must've been the words “sushi” or “Asian” or something like that so we parked the car and went in. The withered hostess seemed to be from somewhere else since her answer to, “Do you have sushi?” was to lead us back past the buffet and Mongolian barbeque to a table with some little teal plates wrapped in cellophane..

Lest you picture this wrong let me describe. The entire place from the carpet to the upholstery was a seafoam greenish blue so it felt like climbing into the behind-the-seat area of an old station wagon. And the place was completely empty except for the hostess and a fat man wedged behind a table gulping down noodles. The Mongolian barbeque wasn't on. And, I'm not sure why, but at that moment the raw meat sitting out buffet-style in front of it didn't make me worry. “It's a restaurant.” I thought. “Surely the food is safe.”

It was $8.99 for “allyoucaneebuffet” so like an idiot I said, “Sure.”
The hostess motioned to the back wall smiling and nodding her head. We looked. It was an old stand up freezer filled with dented old chunk encrusted freezer-burned ice cream.
“Oh. Ice cream.” I smiled.

She nodded profusely and went to get our Sprites.
They came free with the buffet. Meanwhile Sharlene and I grabbed plates and started our search for anything sort-of-fresh looking. Our first plates were the most exotic with selections of pork and I think chicken and some fried green bean things. Sharlene took advantage of the sushi table taking three or four little plates. It looked like salmon on mine. As I passed the Mongolian barbeque I chanced a closer look at the meats sitting out in the open.

They didn't look healthy.

Imagine opening a fresh frozen Styrofoam bottomed package of boneless chicken. You unwrap it, turn it upside down, and dump it on your kitchen floor, turn up your heat, and go on vacation. What you see when you get back is what was laying there. It needed buried.

As I got back to the table Sharlene had already pushed aside most of what she had on her plate and was cautiously unwrapping one of her sushis.
She didn't eat it.

I tried some of mine- makes me gag now.

I still remember the smell when I unwrapped it. It was like opening the fridge after a fishing trip and your trout are laying there on a plate with a little bit of trout blood surrounding them, and they're all staring wide-eyed at you like they still can't believe you did this to them.

It was that.

Not like real sushi. Not with tasty spices or whatever it is they roll in there that makes it taste good. This was half an ounce of white rice with my dead goldfish laying on it.

I didn't eat the other piece. The hostess came back out to check on us. Like an idiot, I nodded and smiled, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

I think there's something wrong with me.

Sharlene snuck her unopened sushi back to the buffet while the hostess wasn't looking. I figured as long as it was all-you-can-eat I should get my money's worth. So I searched the buffet again for anything I could safely eat. As I found some shrimp on ice I thought, “Hey! Something refrigerated!” Then I noticed someone hacking out a lung in the kitchen. How appetizing. But maybe whoever it was wasn't working when they made the food yesterday or the day before so I took the shrimp. 
But it smelled like a dumpster.

Sharlene sat across from me with that look.

“What?”
“You shouldn't pay.”
“But we took food... And Sprite!”
“I just don't think you should pay.” She sipped at her sprite.
I looked down at my two unfinished plates. “We could try the ice cream.”
She didn't smile.
“If we hadn't eaten yet, it'd be different, but-”
“We haven't.” She gestured to the unfinished plates.
“So just tell her... I'm not paying?”

I sat uncomfortably for another five minutes fighting my conscience over how to put it tactfully. The hostess finally came out to see if we wanted anything else.

“No. We're done.”

Have you ever realized mid-story that you should have done something differently, but you can't now because you already did what you did?

Well I looked at the lady and then at the food and said, “I'm sorry, but this isn't edible. We thought you served food here... but this is garbage. Have you obtained the proper licensing to serve food publicly? Because this is unacceptable.”

I stood up and took Sharlene by the hand. She beamed back at me with all the love and admiration a woman can beam with. The old lady started apologizing and offering gift certificates for free dinners. We passed them to a starving homeless man sitting just outside on the sidewalk. He grinned toothlessly and lept to his feet to hug me. A reporter for the nightly news was out doing an interview with the mayor but stopped when she saw us helping the poor stranger. The entire camera crew rushed across four lanes of heavy traffic as the music swelled-

I signed the dang receipt vowing never to try miscellaneous “Asian” buffets ever again.

The door swung open and four smiling men came in sniffing the air hungrily. Apparently they'd been here before because the host remembered what each of them wanted to drink. One of them hoped loudly that they still had that sweet and sour pork he loved so much.

We staggered out. I felt a little green. Tossing and turning that night, I was sure I'd be waking up around 3am with that awful churning stagnant garbage-in-your-stomach feeling of food poisonings gone by. But I didn't. I was fine.
Amazing.

So there you go. That's how I found the worst restaurant I've ever been to in my life... and PAID for it.
It even topped the Dollar Wok In next to my first summer job at a jet ski rental shop.

That's pretty bad because that was in Tillicum. 
But that's a story for another day.


Here's my impression of the sushi there. If you want to make things like this from pictures you find with google images like these: 
Then get photoshop.

Friday, April 29, 2011

Blazing Clouds of Mediocrity: This end.


I graduated.
Against all odds I graduated.

Normally you take general requirement classes in the BEGINNING years of school so that at the end you're free to focus on your major.
But I didn't know how all that worked when I started.

Advanced writing, Physical science, and Statistics: the bane of human existence. The only thing standing between me and a degree. I just got the grades back and by some miracle I passed them all with C's. I got an A on my interpretive essay with comments, which means I must have totally bombed that final paper.

Most people wouldn't be very happy with that.

I'm ecstatic.

The enthusiasm meter was at an all time low as this semester started. I'd planned on finishing these classes in the Fall to make room for a capstone film project this semester, but the car accident, doctor's appointments, and recovery usurped the classes, and sianara to los capstone. This was the unfinished business semester. The last burning hoop to jump through for my bachelor's degree.As the semester progressed I struggled to find time for my classes in the slew of writing, photography, and film work I was planning. I'd started this new thing on my net book...The Nag List. A text document subdivided into categories like school, work, freelance, photography, writing, makeup, film and so on. I used to write lists on the backs of envelopes and the margins of notebooks to remember stuff when it got to be too much.
This was the same thing but in digital form with more categories to help me remember projects that slid to the back burner and beyond. I was excited. I'd never lose a great idea again. Whenever I had one, I'd jot it down for future development. The list grew. So did my confidence. But my grades didn't. I couldn't find time in the day for all my homework. Each unit test would bring lower scores. My ship was sinking. I was going to fail.

Faced with this strong probability, I halted everything else I was doing.
The nag list was all still there, but my focus fell on only the top two categories, School crap, and Urgent School Crap(the one marked in red). I stopped going to work, stopped writing. The mountain of photos I'd taken last Christmas would have to wait. I stopped everything to focus brain, body and mind all day every day on minutia. Nothing else existed for me.
...Loved it.

I remember the feeling I had walking out of the testing center following my Science and Stats finals. I was sure with both of them that I'd ride out with a high F. I'd already flunked Stats last winter so I found no comfort in knowing some of the answers. The bulk of it was incomprehensible to me.

I walked out to the scan-tron machine feeling like a firing squad victim. It'd be nice if I they missed, but hitting their target is what they do and these tests weren't designed to help anybody. The kid at the machine took my test and slid it into the machine.

He said, “Thanks.”

I moved to the monitor displaying scores with a ten second refresh rate and random placement in the line up to protect your privacy. 
Cmon sixty!” I plead to myself. 
I'd done the What-if calculator thing they provide online and felt that if I could just get a solid 60 or maybe even a 59, I could ride the curve and pass the class.

 I scanned for my student number I neglect to list here for fear of privacy violation. 
There it was.
 0505. 
And just to the right of it-

My jaw dropped.

I checked the student number again.
Seventy WHAT! 

I'm naturally bad with numbers, but after a three hour bout with that garbage I'd be hard pressed to spell kat correktley. I turned around and went back just to make sure I'd read it right.
Oh five oh five. Seven and another number! (note: bad with numbers. I don't remember nor does it matter with scores in the low end of mediocrity) I'd done it! I'd more than done it! I did that both days!
Most people would feel pretty jipped about that, but I was happy.
It was finally over.

The last couple of days have been sort of blurry as I regain my equilibrium and catch up with stuff at work. I've felt broken. I haven't been able to write or draw or do anything. My desire was just kinda dead. I worried that school killed me. But today I felt it again. I still feel rusty as I type this, but my light's coming back.

I deleted the School category from my nag list.

Now I can start looking at what I left behind. Turn a few burners back on. I feel my life coming back.

I've got to get back up.
Good things are coming.
-Stay tuned

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Pursue your dreams

Find your passion and perfect it.




Made me smile to see someone pursuing something they're good at. Lovein it at about 1:38. Chariot's of Fire- "God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast, and when I run, I feel his pleasure." I like to think everybody's got a little of that in them. Too much minutia gets in the 
way too much of the time.
So find some way to do what makes your heart sing like this cause without it the world dies.

Monday, February 7, 2011

My Story Boarding Class

I'm taking a class on story boarding from Kee Miller. He reads us part of Tremors every week and we sketch up boards for each shot. Its getting better. Here's a guy getting chased by a worm thingy.


Friday, January 7, 2011

You can't buy things here. We sold it already.

Unlike most of the posts on this blog, what follows is true and not exagerated at all.



 The eggs at Wal Mart were decimated.




Winter semester started and all the students went there to get new food. 



The only bread left was that crumby generic white stuff you can use if you run out of toilet paper.


Joel says to add some explanation...
Sharlene and I ran over to Walmart because we needed groceries because like everybody else here, we just got back from the Christmas break. The place was absolutely ransacked. When we got to the eggs, it was so unbelievable that I had her get her phone out and take some pictures.


Friday, December 31, 2010

Hot to make a five minute post for New Year's Eve

I wrote something and then did a quick google search for a clock. I saw the dancing cartoon one and thought, "Wow. That looks dumb."

So there it is. You too can make millions doing this same thing! Call now for my free tape that tells you how to order the booklet that has more information in it. I get them for free from my doctor's office but you can buy them now for the low low price of 6 cents.

For those who depend on this blog for all your news...

Today is the last day of the year. Please update your clocks accordingly.

-The Management






Monday, December 20, 2010

On a lighter note,

Here's a horse with its head stuck in a tree.
neither the horse nor the chainsaw were hurt during its removal

Sometimes children have the same problem


This would be really bad if it was your arm
That sure would be awkward.

Why Nobody Likes Santa


Every year thousands of Children are placed unwillingly on the laps of men dressed this way to fulfill a desire no child has.

Here's the problem: A parent will say, "Santa Claus is at the mall. Do you want to go sit on his lap?"

The child nods his head about a million times on the way to see Santa, but the lap is there, and screams of agony ensue.
Why? Didn't the child want this?

No.

When a parent says, "Santa Claus is at the mall. Do you want to go sit on his lap?"

All the child hears is, "Santa Claus --mall -- - want?"
Maybe a mathematical equation will help to illustrate.


According to grown-ups the North Pole is full of toys, and Santa's basically King. So you're telling me that this old man with nothing better to do than give away free toys is sitting at the mall right now waiting to take orders?
What sane kid's gonna turn that down?

But then you get there and its not even close to what you expected. The guy smells like someone else's stinky laundry detergent. There's no flying deer anywhere and when you ask him about it, he gives you some lame excuse about them being back at the north pole because the elves wanted to play games with them.

If you had flying deer, would you leave them at home?

Who is this guy?
And why can't he stop laughing?

So as you begin questioning the legitimacy of the experience he tells you to sit on his lap.
Fat chance Dirt Bag!

So there.

I wasn't any more interested in sitting on an old man's lap than any other kid in America. 

The only reason any of us ever waited in that dumb line was to make sure we got on the "Commercially Successful Toys" list so we wouldn't end up with that boring wooden crap the elves were always making in movies.
This was honestly supposed to be worth staying up all night for.

Friday, December 10, 2010

For the protection of our readers:

Please be cautioned this holiday season of the dangers of cup cakes in personal vehicles. Be advised. Cup holders are not for cup cakes. The design fails completely. You will loose the use of both the cup holder and the cake, also your fingers will be covered with a lot of sticky icing from trying to get it out.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

What if you don't have a chimney?

Only slightly less popular than the Tooth Fairy or Easter Bunny was Santa's estranged nephew, Larry, who used to sneak into houses by climbing up through the toilet to leave presents for the children in the hallway or on the stairs to be discovered later by falling parents. The tradition never caught on and was finally banned by the Imaginary Persons And Creatures Board of Responsibility on grounds that the public at large neither recognized nor celibrated the tenth of February. He now practices psychiatry in Saskatchewan. 

Bed Wetting

It's interesting that as a child you think you're the loan freak when in fact the truth is that most of the kids at school only knew what it was because they did it.


You're really only one step up from diapers. I'm pretty sure a few kids in my kindergarten class still wore them.
Imagine you didn't know what it was.
Imagine the shock of first finding out that it even happened; that people actually went to the bathroom while still laying in bed... all over themselves.


Imagine that reaction.
Then compare it with how they all acted when somebody actually got accused of doing it.


Not even close.
They knew very well that feeling of relief; the growing warmth; the unstoppable dread as you realized that you weren't in a bathroom at all! It was a dream! This was a bed! Your bed! You tried to stop but it was impossible. So then you'd have to lay there covered in a gallon of your own urine at 1:13 in the morning wondering what to do next.


They were guilty; every last one of them.


Accusing the ugly kid made everybody feel better though.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Why Visiting the Doctor is Among my Favorite Activities

The cackling latin lady in the next office was going berzerk. Then she told us all how funny it was. According to her she couldn't breath.
Wish that were true.

I'm pretty sure if she wasn't breathing then that sound wouldn't have been there.

Anyway I better explain my doctor's visit just now.
I got there ten minutes late. The shady kid in front of me wearing a camouflage shoplifting coat says he's here for the same doctor I'm seeing. The receptionist twinkles a happy, "I'll get you checked in." and the kid skulks to a chair. 
I walk up to say I'm also here for that doctor.
She doesn't twinkle. I can sit over there. Preferably in the garbage can.

I don't know if there's a lot of paperwork that has to be done, or if someone has to drive to his house and remind him he's seeing patients today but it always takes a long time. I thought maybe by getting there late, they'd be waiting for me and I could just get rushed in since they were planning on seeing me ten minutes ago.
no.
I pick up a magazine to thumb some pages and find out there are people out there making horse magazines. Kind of interesting if you want to know which splint to buy this season in case one of your thoroughbreds gets a sprain. I put it down to entertain myself with the wallpaper and ceiling tiles.

After another twenty minutes, the nurse comes out and asks for the shady character. He shuffles back with her with a suspicious look on his face as if he might have some of the magazines packed away in that coat. I sit for an arcane amount of time before she finally returns for me. Then its the weigh-in, and the temperature, and the blood pressure and the pulse oximeter. Finally she finishes and leaves me in the little exam room to wait another half hour or so by myself while the doctor gets a cappuccino or something.

My doctor is from Israel. But leave the joy stained imagery of Fiddler on the Roof out of it. This particular visit is one of the last two I will have to endure.

As a sidenote, I'd better backstory this a little. I was in a big accident three months ago. Broke my neck. Had a post op infection and got re operated on and the fun of having a PICC Line installed. If you're a doctor and I used the wrong number of letters somewhere in there, don't correct me, I don't care. I know more about PICC lines than you will ever know even though you went to school for umpteen years so you could do something frivolous like save lives.

No. A PICC line simply means you get the joy of playing hospital every eight hours for the rest of your life or until they take it out, whichever comes first. The way mine was going I thought it might be the first choice. Anyway, during the ten weeks I'm playing hospital I get to meet with this doctor every week to bolster my confidence and cheer me along the way. Oh and get stabbed weekly by a nursing student.
Enough background.

I'm sitting there somewhat elated that before too much longer I won't be seeing this doctor again or get stabbed, when he tells me once I'm done taking antibiotics, I'll still have a high risk of the infection coming back because all they really do is suppress infection. Since I have permanent hardware in my neck, "It has maybe..." he wrinkles his face trying for optimism,
"fifty fifty chance of returning with hardware."

He grins.

"In that case, if spine has fused, we take hardware out and repeat treatment." His eyes glint hopefully.

"If it hasn't fused then you'll be in a cast for..." he pauses to soak up the joy of conveying such news, "six months... sometimes longer." I stare back blankly, unwilling to give him the shock and amazement he's hoping for.

"A full body cast then?" I ask.
He nods vigorously. I feel my neck.
"That'd be inconvenient."

"Oh yes! I remember I was finishing medical school back in the late 70's. I used to moonlight as a... a nurse."

I nod.

"Two schoolmates of mine; they were from my high school in Israel, got into a car crash and both had to wear spine casts in the ward I was working."
He smiles, deeply satisfied by the memory and the thought that one day soon he might relish the same satisfaction seeing me in such a cast.

"Was very embarrassing for them." He chuckles. "They shouldn't have crashed their car."
Wise man. I bet they never thought of that.

Reassured that my weekly doctor visits might not actually be coming to an end, I skipped happily to the lab to get stabbed once more by a young lady of almost steady-handedness who I assumed knew what she was doing.

After-all, she was wearing pink pajamas.