Sunday, January 29, 2012

Joke: The Sick Day

This DID NOT happen to me. No man should find this story funny.  However, I can't stop laughing at it.

Calling in sick to work makes me uncomfortable because no matter how legitimate my illness, because I always sense my boss thinks I am lying.

On one occasion, I had a valid reason but lied anyway because the truth was to humiliating to reveal. I simply mentioned that I had sustained a head injury and I hoped I would feel up to coming in the next day. By then, I could think up a doozy to explain the bandage on my crown.

In this case, the truth hurt. I mean it really hurt in the place men feel the most pain. The accident occurred mainly because I conceded to my wife's wishes to adopt a cute little kitty

As the daily routine prescribes, I was taking my shower after breakfast when I heard my wife, Deb, call out to me from the kitchen. "Ed!" she harkened. "The garbage disposal is dead. Come reset it." "You know where the button is." I protested through the shower (pitter-patter).

"Reset it yourself!"

"I am scared!" She pleaded. "What if it starts going and sucks me in?"

Pause. "C'mon, it'll only take a second." No logical assurance about how a disposal can't start itself will calm the fears of a person who suffers from "Big-ol-scary-machine-phobia," a condition brought on by watching too many Stephen King movies.
Stephen King Quote Horror movies Pictures, Images and Photos

It is futile to argue or explain, kind of like telling Lloyd Bentsen Americans are over-taxed. And if a poltergeist did, in fact, possess the disposal, and she was ground into round, I'd have to live with that the rest of my life.

So out I came, dripping wet and buck naked, hoping to make a statement about how her cowardly behavior was, not without consequence, but it was I who would suffer. I crouched down and stuck my head under the sink to find the button.

It is the last action I remember performing. It struck without warning, without respect to my circumstances. Nay, it wasn't a hexed disposal, drawing me into its gnashing metal teeth. It was our new kitty, clawing playfully at the dangling objects she spied between my legs. She ("Buttons" aka "the Grater") had been poised around the corner and stalked me as I took the bait under the sink. At precisely the second I was most vulnerable, she leapt at the toys I unwittingly offered and snagged them with her needle-like claws.
(The following picture gives you an idea without going into graphic detail.)


Now when men feel pain or even sense danger anywhere close to their masculine region, they lose all rational thought to control orderly bodily movements. Instinctively, their nerves compel the body to contort inwardly, while rising upwardly at a violent rate of speed. Not even a well trained monk could calmly stand with his groin supporting the full weight of a kitten and rectify the situation in a step-by-step procedure. Wild animals are sometimes faced with a "fight or flight" syndrome; men, in this predicament, choose only the "flight" option.

Fleeing straight up, I knew at that moment how a cat feels when it is alarmed. It was a dismal irony. But, whereas cats seek great heights to escape, I never made it that far. The sink and cabinet bluntly impeded my ascent; the impact knocked me out cold.

When I awoke, my wife and the paramedics stood over me. Having been fully briefed by my wife, the paramedics snorted as they tried to conduct their work while suppressing their hysterical laughter. My wife told me I should be flattered.

At the office, colleagues tried to coax an explanation out of me. I kept silent, claiming it was too painful to talk. "What's the matter, cat got your tongue?"

If they had only known.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Twinkletoes Remembered

Twinkletoes Remembered
Original Blogstream Post- Sept. 23, 2009
(Didn't want to lose this one when the Stream goes dark)
In June, 1995, we had to have our cat Sylvester put down due to advanced age and acute kidney failure. I moped around work listlessly for a couple of weeks.  One day, my manager, Marsha, stopped me and handed me a flyer for the Adopt a Cat month at the Humane Society.

Chris and I went that evening.  I fell in love with Max a true life cat. Chris gravitated toward a little cream colored tabby that the staff had named Twinkletoes.  I said he’s a kitten…we (translation: I) want a cat.  The staff said if you take both, we’ll knock $20 off the adoption fee.

Max was my cat…a lap cat…purring…dignified.  Twink was Chris’,,,a kitten full of life…and lots of blond moments.  He was always doing things like rolling off the sofa and landing on his head…or back…he’d right himself and give us a look that implied he meant to do that.  There were times he managed to slip out on the front porch…instead of running away…he’d stand there and look like “Is this all there is outside?”

We lost Max to kidney failure in 2007.  One day he was fine; the next day he couldn’t walk straight.  It was easy to make the decision to end his suffering.  Twink acted a little lost so we adopted Alexander the Great…Alex for short. He provided a challenge for Twink.  He also helped to keep Twink’s weight under control by his sneak attacks and their mad runs through the house.

About 18 months ago, Twink collapsed.  We rushed him to our vet…but he recovered by the time we got there. The tests were normal. It happened 2-3 times more and they referred us to a “specialty” hospital. We met Dr. Marshall a feline cardiologist who told us he had heart disease. She prescribed Sotalol to stop his attacks.

We were told that Twink was on borrowed time.  We decided as long as his good days outnumbered the bad…and he wasn’t in obvious pain…we’d do whatever it took to keep him healthy. Last month, Twink had an attack…he recovered slowly. Last week, he had another attack…but by the end of the week, he rallied.  Sunday, he was sick again. Yesterday, we could barely get the meds down him.  Today, we made the decision that we had been dreading.  His bad days were exceeding the good.  His eyes were cloudy and pain filled.

I didn’t want to leave him to go to work this morning. He could barely walk across the floor.  I came home from work for lunch. I called my boss and told her I would have to take the rest of the day off.  Twink slept on my lap until Chris got home.  We knew it was time.  We called our vet’s and they told us that we didn’t need an appointment.

As we left for the vet, Twink walked around outside…sniffing the grass and flowers.  I picked him up and held him as we made the trip to the vet. Once again, his eyes cleared up…he seemed to have more energy…but we made the hard choice that it was only for a few hours…until his next attack.

We weighed him before taking him into the emergency room.  He used to weigh a robust 14 pounds 8 ounces. He was down to 8 pounds and 6 ounces.
The vet came in and injected him and ended his suffering. Tonight, Chris and I grieve…and remember our four legged friend…our child in fur, Twinkletoes.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Your House

This Is so true that I can't decide if it's funny!!!



Your House As Seen








Your County's Tax


                    you don't send this to five friends right away, there will
                    be five fewer people laughing in the world and goodness
                    knows we all need a laugh right

Saturday, January 7, 2012

Saturday Music Memories Featuring Sam the Sham and the Phaorahs

 Oh That's Good, No That's Bad



 The Phantom

Little Red Riding Hood

Wooly Bully