I am back. With all the immediate stuff with my wife's aunt, the holidays and dealing with family, I forgot to hit upon something that was sort of dear to my heart. Actually, it is more nostaglic and reminds me of when I was a young and impressionable lad.
I used to watch a lot of cartoons (still do, I guess) but I loved Popeye. If my mother would serve spinach, not only did I not have a problem eating it (if it was good enough for Popeye, it was certainly good enough for me. I have no trouble eating my veggies, though I am not a Brussel Sprouts fan and I have tried, but I would consider them sauteed with garlic and/or bacon to try.) I would eat me spinach and then get up from the chair and punch my mother in the ass. I wanted to show her that eating my spinach like Popeye made me strong like him. I would even get those freakish large forearms, which I thought I got from masturbation (or at least the right one) but now that I reconsider it was spinach. I did also have those freakishly dainty upper arms like Popeye, too.
Well, seeing how there have been deaths attributed to e. coli on spinach in the United States, it has made me wonder. Was the secret to Popeye's strength the spinach or was Popeye a shit eater. Man, I am so disillusioned about that right now. I mean, Popeye, I idolized you. I could not understand a fucking word you said, but you were my man (cartoon man, anyway). Now it comes out that you actually liked to eat shit. No, eating shit made you strong and beat the tar out of Bluto or Brutus or Brutusk.
I guess I should not be shocked to find Popeye on the cover of the latest Shit Lovers movie. Man, life just got a whole lot worse for me. This is what happens when you idolize a shit eater. Who knew? Now, I cannot complain when the lad does not want to eat his spinach. I should have realized something was up when a couple of weeks ago the lad said to his mother, "This spinach tastes like shit." I thought he was being over dramatic, I mean, I cannot recall ever witnessing him eating shit, so how would he know what it tastes like? I can only assume....it tastes like spinach. In any event, he was being honest. I should feel bad about banishing him to the linen closet (there is too much fun for him to have in his room, ain't nothing to do in the linen closet, except sniff cleaning solvents, shit, I am one bad father). Guess, I will have to fix him a drink to wash down the shit, er spinach, and the solvents.
That "Father of the Year" award or even the "#1 Dad" T-shirt is mine! Well, that has been a pleasant ride today...Popeye, shit eating, the lad eating shit, sniffing solvents and drinking. It is always an adventure here at Ravings of a Well Adjusted Madman, though the "well adjusted" part is certainly debatable at this point. See what adding shit to your diet when you are still growing does to you. That should be a lesson to us all and is another Public Service Announcement, which has to count as part of my community service. Ciao!
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Aunt Rant Day continues
I am back. I am glad that I was able to get the Aunt rant off my chest. She keeps talking about taking my wife out for lunch to celebrate her birthday (it was in April) but nothing comes of it. She was supposed to take her out over the summer but we all went along and my mother in law picked up the tab. I am sure that the aunt somehow took credit for getting the family together. She is a wonderful person.
She does invite the lad over to swim. Of course, she takes wonderful care of her pool and it is used so often. These days it is cold and green. I am not a fan of water that is both cold and green, call me crazy. If I want to be coated in green slime, I would become a fucking Ghostbuster. As cruel as I am to the lad, I feel it is all fodder for his trip to the analyst, I figure that I have to give him some entertaining stories to tell the shrink (it is only a matter of time and it is in his genes), even I would not let him get near the slimy, green, cold water.
There is this story that I think sums this woman up.....Years ago, I am thinking about ten or so, my sister in law and her kids are in from the US. The aunt invites us all for a swim and brunch. The woman can cook, I will give her that (unlike my mother in law). Anyway, the oldest of the neices has to be about eight to ten. They all go for a swim, the pool was clean and chlorinated then. We sit down for lunch and what does she serve....caviar pie. It was delicious but I am not sure what the children ended up eating. What kid likes salty fishy eggs? It is excellent but a strong and acquired taste. What kid likes capers at first try? My head spun and then it finally dawned on me.......she was cooking for the compliments not for her guests. Besides, whenever she invites people for food, it is like Mary Richards, not enough fucking food. We are Jewish and no respecting Jewish function ever runs out of food, run out of booze, yes, food, NEVER! It just ain't done and I come from a non-eating family (again take a look at me, my brother, sister or nephew).
I just cannot stop this raving and ranting! I am sure there could be more but I have to get her out of my mind. I watched that new NBC series, "Heroes" last night. It was like the X-Men but not in comic or cartoon form. It could be pretty interesting and has those interconnected story lines. It was pretty cool and could get more so as things set up. I will certainly watch next week. Tonight, it is "Rescue Me". I love that show, funny, dark and depressing all at the same time, just like life. It is pretty cool. I am done for today. Ciao!
She does invite the lad over to swim. Of course, she takes wonderful care of her pool and it is used so often. These days it is cold and green. I am not a fan of water that is both cold and green, call me crazy. If I want to be coated in green slime, I would become a fucking Ghostbuster. As cruel as I am to the lad, I feel it is all fodder for his trip to the analyst, I figure that I have to give him some entertaining stories to tell the shrink (it is only a matter of time and it is in his genes), even I would not let him get near the slimy, green, cold water.
There is this story that I think sums this woman up.....Years ago, I am thinking about ten or so, my sister in law and her kids are in from the US. The aunt invites us all for a swim and brunch. The woman can cook, I will give her that (unlike my mother in law). Anyway, the oldest of the neices has to be about eight to ten. They all go for a swim, the pool was clean and chlorinated then. We sit down for lunch and what does she serve....caviar pie. It was delicious but I am not sure what the children ended up eating. What kid likes salty fishy eggs? It is excellent but a strong and acquired taste. What kid likes capers at first try? My head spun and then it finally dawned on me.......she was cooking for the compliments not for her guests. Besides, whenever she invites people for food, it is like Mary Richards, not enough fucking food. We are Jewish and no respecting Jewish function ever runs out of food, run out of booze, yes, food, NEVER! It just ain't done and I come from a non-eating family (again take a look at me, my brother, sister or nephew).
I just cannot stop this raving and ranting! I am sure there could be more but I have to get her out of my mind. I watched that new NBC series, "Heroes" last night. It was like the X-Men but not in comic or cartoon form. It could be pretty interesting and has those interconnected story lines. It was pretty cool and could get more so as things set up. I will certainly watch next week. Tonight, it is "Rescue Me". I love that show, funny, dark and depressing all at the same time, just like life. It is pretty cool. I am done for today. Ciao!
Aunt Rant Day continues
I am back. I am glad that I was able to get the Aunt rant off my chest. She keeps talking about taking my wife out for lunch to celebrate her birthday (it was in April) but nothing comes of it. She was supposed to take her out over the summer but we all went along and my mother in law picked up the tab. I am sure that the aunt somehow took credit for getting the family together. She is a wonderful person.
She does invite the lad over to swim. Of course, she takes wonderful care of her pool and it is used so often. These days it is cold and green. I am not a fan of water that is both cold and green, call me crazy. If I want to be coated in green slime, I would become a fucking Ghostbuster. As cruel as I am to the lad, I feel it is all fodder for his trip to the analyst, I figure that I have to give him some entertaining stories to tell the shrink (it is only a matter of time and it is in his genes), even I would not let him get near the slimy, green, cold water.
There is this story that I think sums this woman up.....Years ago, I am thinking about ten or so, my sister in law and her kids are in from the US. The aunt invites us all for a swim and brunch. The woman can cook, I will give her that (unlike my mother in law). Anyway, the oldest of the neices has to be about eight to ten. They all go for a swim, the pool was clean and chlorinated then. We sit down for lunch and what does she serve....caviar pie. It was delicious but I am not sure what the children ended up eating. What kid likes salty fishy eggs? It is excellent but a strong and acquired taste. What kid likes capers at first try? My head spun and then it finally dawned on me.......she was cooking for the compliments not for her guests. Besides, whenever she invites people for food, it is like Mary Richards, not enough fucking food. We are Jewish and no respecting Jewish function ever runs out of food, run out of booze, yes, food, NEVER! It just ain't done and I come from a non-eating family (again take a look at me, my brother, sister or nephew).
I just cannot stop this raving and ranting! I am sure there could be more but I have to get her out of my mind. I watched that new NBC series, "Heroes" last night. It was like the X-Men but not in comic or cartoon form. It could be pretty interesting and has those interconnected story lines. It was pretty cool and could get more so as things set up. I will certainly watch next week. Tonight, it is "Rescue Me". I love that show, funny, dark and depressing all at the same time, just like life. It is pretty cool. I am done for today. Ciao!
She does invite the lad over to swim. Of course, she takes wonderful care of her pool and it is used so often. These days it is cold and green. I am not a fan of water that is both cold and green, call me crazy. If I want to be coated in green slime, I would become a fucking Ghostbuster. As cruel as I am to the lad, I feel it is all fodder for his trip to the analyst, I figure that I have to give him some entertaining stories to tell the shrink (it is only a matter of time and it is in his genes), even I would not let him get near the slimy, green, cold water.
There is this story that I think sums this woman up.....Years ago, I am thinking about ten or so, my sister in law and her kids are in from the US. The aunt invites us all for a swim and brunch. The woman can cook, I will give her that (unlike my mother in law). Anyway, the oldest of the neices has to be about eight to ten. They all go for a swim, the pool was clean and chlorinated then. We sit down for lunch and what does she serve....caviar pie. It was delicious but I am not sure what the children ended up eating. What kid likes salty fishy eggs? It is excellent but a strong and acquired taste. What kid likes capers at first try? My head spun and then it finally dawned on me.......she was cooking for the compliments not for her guests. Besides, whenever she invites people for food, it is like Mary Richards, not enough fucking food. We are Jewish and no respecting Jewish function ever runs out of food, run out of booze, yes, food, NEVER! It just ain't done and I come from a non-eating family (again take a look at me, my brother, sister or nephew).
I just cannot stop this raving and ranting! I am sure there could be more but I have to get her out of my mind. I watched that new NBC series, "Heroes" last night. It was like the X-Men but not in comic or cartoon form. It could be pretty interesting and has those interconnected story lines. It was pretty cool and could get more so as things set up. I will certainly watch next week. Tonight, it is "Rescue Me". I love that show, funny, dark and depressing all at the same time, just like life. It is pretty cool. I am done for today. Ciao!
Monday, September 25, 2006
Am I making a mountain out of an aunt hill?
I am back. I even survived a weekend of extended families, some not even my own. It was not without incident, but what is. On a happy note, my father in law made it to eight thirty on Friday night before pushing my poor mother in law out the door. I helped them to the car. The man was grousing so I told him in no uncertain terms to just get in the car. As usual, his sister, my wife's aunt, is after him about leaving. "Stay for me", "You haven't had dessert" (she made desserts, as if "real" food was beneath her), that sort of shit. Funny how that did not work and get him to stay longer. I pretty much was able to waste enough time with him outside, so that she and my wife could make the in laws a plate of desserts to take with them on the road. All my mother in law needed was a styrofoam cup of coffee or tea, but the man would not sit for that. Of course, I do not know where he is going, since my mother in law has the car keys.
Outside, my mother in law tells my father in law that he is embarrassing her and himself. She then says, "if you act like that, nobody will invite you over." To which he replies, "Who cares! Don't invite me!" I turn to her and tell her that was the wrong way to question him. I mean his reply was a given. The guy would be content to not leave the condo unit (thankfully he is not a roamer and is afraid of everything, so there is little worry about him bolting and wandering freely and in a state of confusion, which is right next to Kentucky I am told). I say you should threaten him with weekly trips to other people's homes if you don't behave. That would get him where it hurts or is the most uncomfortable.
Anyway, the aunt did it again. I did miss one great conversation though. The aunt's oldest child lives in New York with her husband and children. She has not been back to Canada for a while, she even missed her brother's wedding in June of 2005, because of alleged visa problems with regard to her getting permanent resident status in the US (her husband, assuming there actually was a wedding, I have seen no evidence of it, nor do I really care, is a US citizen). She is showing pictures of the place that they stay in the Hamptons to my wife's cousin (she is the daughter of the host aunt, my mother in law's sister, the aunt in question is my father in law's youngest sister)(You really do need a score card here). "This is J's room" "This is J's closet" that sort of bullshit. The cousin replies to each showing, "Does she/they own the house?" "No, but they are there so often, they practically own it." This apparently goes on for the whole of the picture show and the aunt was getting pissed off having to face the reality of showing pictures that nobody gives a shit about. I was waiting for the picture of the toilet, "this is the toilet in which J takes a dump." Fuck!!!!!!
I did get to hear how wonderful the aunt is, from the aunt herself. I was getting dessert and she could not help but say how she spent all afternoon in the kitchen baking. She is so wonderful. Then again, I guess nobody else did anything. The food prepared for the entrees and sides were made by elves. Fuck, my wife was not in the kitchen cooking the side dishes? There was a fucking ghost in my house that made those cooking smells, I guess. Man, I am so dumb. What would I do without this obtuse twit to show me the light. Fuck, I do not know how she is able to bake at all. I am surprised that her arm is not broken or sprained from patting herself on the back all the time. How fucking needy is this woman?!!! (rhetorical question, no need to worry there is no quiz on today's post)
In my last bit of ranting, the use of honey is traditional this time of year. It is symbolic of a sweet new year. Honey cake is all the rage and I love a good honey cake. It is really a sponge cake with honey so it is that lovely brown, carmelly color. Now, maybe I am simple, but I like my honey cake just like that. There is no need to add anything. The cake she made, she says as she pats herself on the back, had dried cherries and nuts added. It was okay but then I had a piece or three of my brother's mother in law's honey cake last night, that one was far superior. Hell, my aunt's was always better than that fucking thing with dried fruit and nuts. Ahhhhhh!
It would be all done except I have to see her next week, unless I blow that one off. At least my father in law will pushing to leave early, so that will be the out for us all. That is all. I did have a request for more "aunt" stories and those were live and recent, so enjoy. Ciao!
Outside, my mother in law tells my father in law that he is embarrassing her and himself. She then says, "if you act like that, nobody will invite you over." To which he replies, "Who cares! Don't invite me!" I turn to her and tell her that was the wrong way to question him. I mean his reply was a given. The guy would be content to not leave the condo unit (thankfully he is not a roamer and is afraid of everything, so there is little worry about him bolting and wandering freely and in a state of confusion, which is right next to Kentucky I am told). I say you should threaten him with weekly trips to other people's homes if you don't behave. That would get him where it hurts or is the most uncomfortable.
Anyway, the aunt did it again. I did miss one great conversation though. The aunt's oldest child lives in New York with her husband and children. She has not been back to Canada for a while, she even missed her brother's wedding in June of 2005, because of alleged visa problems with regard to her getting permanent resident status in the US (her husband, assuming there actually was a wedding, I have seen no evidence of it, nor do I really care, is a US citizen). She is showing pictures of the place that they stay in the Hamptons to my wife's cousin (she is the daughter of the host aunt, my mother in law's sister, the aunt in question is my father in law's youngest sister)(You really do need a score card here). "This is J's room" "This is J's closet" that sort of bullshit. The cousin replies to each showing, "Does she/they own the house?" "No, but they are there so often, they practically own it." This apparently goes on for the whole of the picture show and the aunt was getting pissed off having to face the reality of showing pictures that nobody gives a shit about. I was waiting for the picture of the toilet, "this is the toilet in which J takes a dump." Fuck!!!!!!
I did get to hear how wonderful the aunt is, from the aunt herself. I was getting dessert and she could not help but say how she spent all afternoon in the kitchen baking. She is so wonderful. Then again, I guess nobody else did anything. The food prepared for the entrees and sides were made by elves. Fuck, my wife was not in the kitchen cooking the side dishes? There was a fucking ghost in my house that made those cooking smells, I guess. Man, I am so dumb. What would I do without this obtuse twit to show me the light. Fuck, I do not know how she is able to bake at all. I am surprised that her arm is not broken or sprained from patting herself on the back all the time. How fucking needy is this woman?!!! (rhetorical question, no need to worry there is no quiz on today's post)
In my last bit of ranting, the use of honey is traditional this time of year. It is symbolic of a sweet new year. Honey cake is all the rage and I love a good honey cake. It is really a sponge cake with honey so it is that lovely brown, carmelly color. Now, maybe I am simple, but I like my honey cake just like that. There is no need to add anything. The cake she made, she says as she pats herself on the back, had dried cherries and nuts added. It was okay but then I had a piece or three of my brother's mother in law's honey cake last night, that one was far superior. Hell, my aunt's was always better than that fucking thing with dried fruit and nuts. Ahhhhhh!
It would be all done except I have to see her next week, unless I blow that one off. At least my father in law will pushing to leave early, so that will be the out for us all. That is all. I did have a request for more "aunt" stories and those were live and recent, so enjoy. Ciao!
Friday, September 22, 2006
How do you spell VICTORY?
I am back. After yesterday's post, I needed a little levity. I seemed to have received it. It seems there was a "victory" parade for Hezbollah in Beirut today with much strident talk. Let me get this straight, country bombarded, thousands dead and injured, infrastructure in ruins, homes, I mean rubble where homes used to be. Yup, that is exactly what "victory" looks like to me. I am afraid to think about what defeat would have looked like. Whatever gets you through the night Hezbollah dudes.
There is going to be a Chinese version of "The Apprentice". Of course, when the Chinese Donald Trump says "You're fired.", in Chinese, there will actually be a firing squad. The contestant will be shot and his organs harvested and sold for transplant elsewhere. You have to love that Chinese twist on things.
I think I am about done for today. Short and sweet. I have to prepare myself for a dinner with extended outlaw clan. Wish me luck. Actually, maybe you should wish them luck. I may drink myself silly. Then I can recreate one of my favorite Festivus traditions....the airing of grievances. I got a lot of problems with you people.....It will teach them.
It is at the wife's aunt's tonight instead of my in law's place. My mother in law cannot handle this crap, as evidenced by the Passover bullshit. My father in law will be clamoring to get out by about seven thirty, maybe even seven as it is getting dark earlier. We had it here last year and he pushed my mother in law out the door by eight upsetting my wife. His sister, fucking twit, tries to get him to stay by saying, "do it for me". Yeah, there is winning argument with a stubborn, demented man. Besides, it is always about her, yet she does not seem to realize that nobody gives a shit what she wants. Of course she is too obtuse to see that. I guess I could get in trouble for writing this shit but I have never given this site address to any of my family members or my wife, her siblings or cousins. I am a moron but I ain't stupid and I do not want to censor myself more than I already do.
Gotta run. I need a drink NOW. I am thinking that if I get nabbed for a DUI before I go, then I do not have to go. How is that for twisted logic? Get drunk, take out a school bus all to avoid this fucking dinner. I am insane. I guess I just have to suck it up and take one for the team, though I am not sure what team this is that I am taking one for. Have a great one. Ciao!
There is going to be a Chinese version of "The Apprentice". Of course, when the Chinese Donald Trump says "You're fired.", in Chinese, there will actually be a firing squad. The contestant will be shot and his organs harvested and sold for transplant elsewhere. You have to love that Chinese twist on things.
I think I am about done for today. Short and sweet. I have to prepare myself for a dinner with extended outlaw clan. Wish me luck. Actually, maybe you should wish them luck. I may drink myself silly. Then I can recreate one of my favorite Festivus traditions....the airing of grievances. I got a lot of problems with you people.....It will teach them.
It is at the wife's aunt's tonight instead of my in law's place. My mother in law cannot handle this crap, as evidenced by the Passover bullshit. My father in law will be clamoring to get out by about seven thirty, maybe even seven as it is getting dark earlier. We had it here last year and he pushed my mother in law out the door by eight upsetting my wife. His sister, fucking twit, tries to get him to stay by saying, "do it for me". Yeah, there is winning argument with a stubborn, demented man. Besides, it is always about her, yet she does not seem to realize that nobody gives a shit what she wants. Of course she is too obtuse to see that. I guess I could get in trouble for writing this shit but I have never given this site address to any of my family members or my wife, her siblings or cousins. I am a moron but I ain't stupid and I do not want to censor myself more than I already do.
Gotta run. I need a drink NOW. I am thinking that if I get nabbed for a DUI before I go, then I do not have to go. How is that for twisted logic? Get drunk, take out a school bus all to avoid this fucking dinner. I am insane. I guess I just have to suck it up and take one for the team, though I am not sure what team this is that I am taking one for. Have a great one. Ciao!
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Penis transplants, rejection and dick stumps, who could ask for more?
I am back. I could not get connected yesterday so here is the post I was going to do yesterday. I have noticed in looking back on previous posts that I have missed words and such. Damn typos. My brain is obviously faster than my fingers. The ideas are not lost, so it is functionally no big deal.
I came across this gem of a story in the news. Read it and enjoy.
Penis transplant reported in China
By MARILYNN MARCHIONE, AP Medical Writer
Chinese doctors say they successfully transplanted a penis on a man who lost his own in an accident, but had to remove it two weeks later because of psychological problems experienced by the man and his wife.
The case appears to be the first such transplant reported in a medical journal — European Urology, published by the European Association of Urology.
The Chinese doctors could not be reached for comment, and their report does not explain how the 44-year-old man lost his penis. It says only that "an unfortunate traumatic accident" left him with a small stump, unable to urinate or have sex normally.
Surgeons led by Dr. Hu Weilie at Guangzhou General Hospital performed the transplant in September 2005, a hospital spokesperson said Tuesday. The penis came from a 22-year-old brain-dead man whose parents agreed to donate his organ.
"There was a strong demand from both the patient and his wife" for a transplant, and the operation "was discussed again and again" and approved by the hospital's ethics committee, Hu writes in the journal.
Despite how shocking and radical the operation sounds, it involves standard microsurgery techniques to reconnect blood vessels and nerves.
From a medical point of view, "the main hurdle is the functional recovery," said Dr. W.P. Andrew Lee, chief of plastic surgery at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center.
From arm and leg reattachments, it's known that nerve regrowth occurs at a rate of about an inch a month and often is insufficient to allow normal use, he said.
However, the ethical and psychological challenges in such cases can be even more paramount, as this and other recent transplants involving hands and faces illustrate.
"Some of the considerations for a penile transplant are the same as for a hand or face transplant," such as the need to take lifelong immune-suppressing drugs to prevent rejection of the new organ, Lee said.
The drugs can cause kidney and other damage, acceptable risks when the transplant involves a vital organ such as a liver or heart, but more ethically perilous when the operation is aimed at improving quality of life rather than extending it, Dr. Yoram Vardi, a neurology and urology specialist at the Rambam Medical Center in Haifa, Israel, writes in an accompanying commentary in the urology journal.
Psychological issues are keenly important. The world's first hand transplant recipient stopped taking immune suppression drugs and later requested that the hand be amputated.
Lee recalled speaking with the recipient of the world's first double-hand transplant in France, who told him it took months for him to accept his new hands and stop referring to one as "it."
Fourteen days after the penis transplant, the recipient and his wife requested that the organ be removed "because of the wife's psychological rejection as well as the swollen shape of the transplanted penis," the surgeons report in the journal.
Lab examination showed no sign of rejection, the doctors report.
If adequate attention had been paid to the need for counseling and other psychological concerns surrounding the transplant, "the need for penile amputation could probably have been avoided," Vardi wrote in his commentary.
How freaky is this? What kind of accident causes you to lose your penis???!!!!! Did the dude tie a string to it with a hook and use it as a fishing rod? I am having trouble getting my head, pardon the pun, around how he lost his penis. I really have to know. I want to be sure that I am not involved in some sort of high risk (of losing my penis) activities. I am pretty attached to it, and it me. In fact, I find it hard (damn puns and double entendres) to call my penis an "it". My penis is part of me and I am a part of my penis. Actually, I am walking blood supply for Mr. Happy, but I am treated well by he (now, I have gone and given my penis personhood, what is up with that?).
Now, I have to wonder why I have chosen to post on the topic of a penis and more specifically my penis. It is mine, the only one I have and hopefully the only one I will ever have. We are happy, make that content, together. We treat each other well. I give him blood and air and he performs well for me when called upon. That can never change.
It got me to thinking of a certain somebody, who while we were on frat road trips, never seemed to shower amongst the others. He seemed to do it alone, if at all. We, Willie, JLC and I, surmised that he had his penis shot off, or blown off, in 'Nam. He was left with a dick stump. He lisped so the running joke was that he also had a sister, named Sally. We were a fucking cruel and immature bunch. I did outgrow all that. I am no longer cruel. Anyway, we would cry out, never in his presence, of course, (that would have been too forward and really cruel) "Thally thaw me naked! Thally thaw my dick thtump!" It was funny twenty two years ago, maybe not as funny now. Oh well.
Now we have the story of a Chinese dude who does have a dick stump as a result of some undisclosed incident or accident. What was it? Did he stick it in a vacuum cleaner to get "sucked" off (in which case, I guess it was severed and sucked clear off). I really need to know. I would really be pissed if one day, going about my business, some accident would occur and I would lose my penis. I think I have mentioned that already but it can NEVER be stated enough as far as I am concerned.
Now, he gets a "new" penis, but both and he and his wife have trouble adjusting. For him, I can see it being tough. It just would not look right and would not fit like the old one. I dig that. For her, I can see and upside and downside. I mean, there is the excitement and sense of a "new" penis for her pleasure. That is always cool. It is new without the awkwardness of making a new a physical connection. Yet, she too had trouble with it. But two weeks??? That is hardly enough time to get to know it. Besides, I think it would be tender and swollen (damn) still from the microsurgery. What were they thinking?(I am now fucking Dr. Phil. I am not physically fucking him, blahhh, I mean I am sounding like him).
Oh yeah, I love how they described the dude has having suffered an "unfortunate traumatic accident". "Unfortunate"! "Traumatic"! Ya think? I would say losing my penis would be unfortunate and traumatic. Thank you Dr. Obvious!
Now, it got me to thinking about having another penis added in the middle of my chest. It would make slow dancing with the wife really enjoyable. Slow dancing and a little titty fuck at the same time. How cool would that be? I would have to clear it with my wife first, of course, but I am sure I could make a convincing case for it. She may even get off straddling my chest. Then again, with vigorous bouncing I would run the risk of having ribs cracked and sternum broken, so maybe I should scrap that idea. Forget the penis in the chest idea.
Chew on that story for a while. Ciao!
I came across this gem of a story in the news. Read it and enjoy.
Penis transplant reported in China
By MARILYNN MARCHIONE, AP Medical Writer
Chinese doctors say they successfully transplanted a penis on a man who lost his own in an accident, but had to remove it two weeks later because of psychological problems experienced by the man and his wife.
The case appears to be the first such transplant reported in a medical journal — European Urology, published by the European Association of Urology.
The Chinese doctors could not be reached for comment, and their report does not explain how the 44-year-old man lost his penis. It says only that "an unfortunate traumatic accident" left him with a small stump, unable to urinate or have sex normally.
Surgeons led by Dr. Hu Weilie at Guangzhou General Hospital performed the transplant in September 2005, a hospital spokesperson said Tuesday. The penis came from a 22-year-old brain-dead man whose parents agreed to donate his organ.
"There was a strong demand from both the patient and his wife" for a transplant, and the operation "was discussed again and again" and approved by the hospital's ethics committee, Hu writes in the journal.
Despite how shocking and radical the operation sounds, it involves standard microsurgery techniques to reconnect blood vessels and nerves.
From a medical point of view, "the main hurdle is the functional recovery," said Dr. W.P. Andrew Lee, chief of plastic surgery at the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center.
From arm and leg reattachments, it's known that nerve regrowth occurs at a rate of about an inch a month and often is insufficient to allow normal use, he said.
However, the ethical and psychological challenges in such cases can be even more paramount, as this and other recent transplants involving hands and faces illustrate.
"Some of the considerations for a penile transplant are the same as for a hand or face transplant," such as the need to take lifelong immune-suppressing drugs to prevent rejection of the new organ, Lee said.
The drugs can cause kidney and other damage, acceptable risks when the transplant involves a vital organ such as a liver or heart, but more ethically perilous when the operation is aimed at improving quality of life rather than extending it, Dr. Yoram Vardi, a neurology and urology specialist at the Rambam Medical Center in Haifa, Israel, writes in an accompanying commentary in the urology journal.
Psychological issues are keenly important. The world's first hand transplant recipient stopped taking immune suppression drugs and later requested that the hand be amputated.
Lee recalled speaking with the recipient of the world's first double-hand transplant in France, who told him it took months for him to accept his new hands and stop referring to one as "it."
Fourteen days after the penis transplant, the recipient and his wife requested that the organ be removed "because of the wife's psychological rejection as well as the swollen shape of the transplanted penis," the surgeons report in the journal.
Lab examination showed no sign of rejection, the doctors report.
If adequate attention had been paid to the need for counseling and other psychological concerns surrounding the transplant, "the need for penile amputation could probably have been avoided," Vardi wrote in his commentary.
How freaky is this? What kind of accident causes you to lose your penis???!!!!! Did the dude tie a string to it with a hook and use it as a fishing rod? I am having trouble getting my head, pardon the pun, around how he lost his penis. I really have to know. I want to be sure that I am not involved in some sort of high risk (of losing my penis) activities. I am pretty attached to it, and it me. In fact, I find it hard (damn puns and double entendres) to call my penis an "it". My penis is part of me and I am a part of my penis. Actually, I am walking blood supply for Mr. Happy, but I am treated well by he (now, I have gone and given my penis personhood, what is up with that?).
Now, I have to wonder why I have chosen to post on the topic of a penis and more specifically my penis. It is mine, the only one I have and hopefully the only one I will ever have. We are happy, make that content, together. We treat each other well. I give him blood and air and he performs well for me when called upon. That can never change.
It got me to thinking of a certain somebody, who while we were on frat road trips, never seemed to shower amongst the others. He seemed to do it alone, if at all. We, Willie, JLC and I, surmised that he had his penis shot off, or blown off, in 'Nam. He was left with a dick stump. He lisped so the running joke was that he also had a sister, named Sally. We were a fucking cruel and immature bunch. I did outgrow all that. I am no longer cruel. Anyway, we would cry out, never in his presence, of course, (that would have been too forward and really cruel) "Thally thaw me naked! Thally thaw my dick thtump!" It was funny twenty two years ago, maybe not as funny now. Oh well.
Now we have the story of a Chinese dude who does have a dick stump as a result of some undisclosed incident or accident. What was it? Did he stick it in a vacuum cleaner to get "sucked" off (in which case, I guess it was severed and sucked clear off). I really need to know. I would really be pissed if one day, going about my business, some accident would occur and I would lose my penis. I think I have mentioned that already but it can NEVER be stated enough as far as I am concerned.
Now, he gets a "new" penis, but both and he and his wife have trouble adjusting. For him, I can see it being tough. It just would not look right and would not fit like the old one. I dig that. For her, I can see and upside and downside. I mean, there is the excitement and sense of a "new" penis for her pleasure. That is always cool. It is new without the awkwardness of making a new a physical connection. Yet, she too had trouble with it. But two weeks??? That is hardly enough time to get to know it. Besides, I think it would be tender and swollen (damn) still from the microsurgery. What were they thinking?(I am now fucking Dr. Phil. I am not physically fucking him, blahhh, I mean I am sounding like him).
Oh yeah, I love how they described the dude has having suffered an "unfortunate traumatic accident". "Unfortunate"! "Traumatic"! Ya think? I would say losing my penis would be unfortunate and traumatic. Thank you Dr. Obvious!
Now, it got me to thinking about having another penis added in the middle of my chest. It would make slow dancing with the wife really enjoyable. Slow dancing and a little titty fuck at the same time. How cool would that be? I would have to clear it with my wife first, of course, but I am sure I could make a convincing case for it. She may even get off straddling my chest. Then again, with vigorous bouncing I would run the risk of having ribs cracked and sternum broken, so maybe I should scrap that idea. Forget the penis in the chest idea.
Chew on that story for a while. Ciao!
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
No Power Mornings
I am back. I am not sure what the topic of today's screed should be. I could go over the weekend in review, but nah!!! In another life I would have taken how today began as a bad omen. Not now. It was just one of those things. It was just starting to get light out when the wife asked me if the power was out. I look at my clock, why she did not do the same I am not sure but it may have something to do with her not wearing her glasses/contacts, and see it is dark. I get up to get her watch to see the time, to which she asks why I do not put on the television and get the time that way. I let her try.
I could have been really sarcastic and nasty but did not want to start the day that way. It was quarter to seven by the way. I could tell it was between six thirty and seven by the amount of light in the sky. I am fucking Copernicus that way. Anyway, it had been a crappy sleep in any event. It was just too fucking warm in here and I was not about to put on the A/C for some strange reason.
To top it all, the bathtub had clogged. I put in a whole bottle of drain declogger the night before but by the time we went to bed, the clog remained and tub was half full of slimy water (the lad had showered that night, and not too soon as he was a bit ripe). I was thinking that I would need to get the drain opener from my mother. The shit she has can barely be contained by the plastic bottle it is in. It is sulfuric acid and has a great smell when added to the clog, if you like the smell of rotten eggs and who doesn't? Anyway, that problem was solved when I took the flashlight into the bathroom (it was still a bit dark) and noticed the tub had drained, which could only mean that the declogger ate away at whatever organic gunk had clogged the drain in the first place.
I got the wife's shower stuff from the basement bathroom, since she could use the upstairs shower. She did her thing with a flashlight on. She had just finished when the power came back around quarter to eight. I figured this whole no power wake up would doom the day. I then recalled about ten years ago when I lost my keys, on the subway no less, and figured that I would lose my shirt trading that day. It was about a week before the lad was born, too. I actually had a good trading day (made money) eventhough my routine had been interupted. I think the lesson is that the routine is not set in stone and that it serves no purpose other than to give me the illusion of control.
No more illusions for me. I have no control. Well, I do control my bladder and that is a good thing. I mean to give a wedgie to a dude in Depends who has just fudged himself is never any fun for anybody. Of course, like all things, it could be worse. Diarrhea is nobody's friend and is not a play thing. Man, I am grossing myself out here.
What do you call the act? The Aristocrats! Ciao!
I could have been really sarcastic and nasty but did not want to start the day that way. It was quarter to seven by the way. I could tell it was between six thirty and seven by the amount of light in the sky. I am fucking Copernicus that way. Anyway, it had been a crappy sleep in any event. It was just too fucking warm in here and I was not about to put on the A/C for some strange reason.
To top it all, the bathtub had clogged. I put in a whole bottle of drain declogger the night before but by the time we went to bed, the clog remained and tub was half full of slimy water (the lad had showered that night, and not too soon as he was a bit ripe). I was thinking that I would need to get the drain opener from my mother. The shit she has can barely be contained by the plastic bottle it is in. It is sulfuric acid and has a great smell when added to the clog, if you like the smell of rotten eggs and who doesn't? Anyway, that problem was solved when I took the flashlight into the bathroom (it was still a bit dark) and noticed the tub had drained, which could only mean that the declogger ate away at whatever organic gunk had clogged the drain in the first place.
I got the wife's shower stuff from the basement bathroom, since she could use the upstairs shower. She did her thing with a flashlight on. She had just finished when the power came back around quarter to eight. I figured this whole no power wake up would doom the day. I then recalled about ten years ago when I lost my keys, on the subway no less, and figured that I would lose my shirt trading that day. It was about a week before the lad was born, too. I actually had a good trading day (made money) eventhough my routine had been interupted. I think the lesson is that the routine is not set in stone and that it serves no purpose other than to give me the illusion of control.
No more illusions for me. I have no control. Well, I do control my bladder and that is a good thing. I mean to give a wedgie to a dude in Depends who has just fudged himself is never any fun for anybody. Of course, like all things, it could be worse. Diarrhea is nobody's friend and is not a play thing. Man, I am grossing myself out here.
What do you call the act? The Aristocrats! Ciao!
Monday, September 18, 2006
I have been drinking in a bar without a soul
I am back. I did not have time to do justice to my thoughts on Friday. I had a good experience on Thursday evening but it was surreal. We had a fraternity alumni function. We, and I do mean we, have not been "frat boys" for well over twenty years. Again, I do not think that I have aged, but when I look in the mirror, I know that I am kidding myself. In any event, I met Willie, JLC and WO for bevvies beforehand at a Boston Pizza.
The Boston Pizza struck me as a strange place. It was so damn American suburban. I say that in a bad way. I mean it is like their is an attempt to appear kitschy and retro-hip, pub/sportsbar like, but it falls flat. My point is the place has NO SOUL!!!! It is to sportsbars/restaurants like Dire Straits "Brother in Arms" was to music. It may be set up well (sound great) but there is something rather empty about both. Neither has a soul, it was processed out of them both. Then again, it was a midpoint place to grab a drink before heading to this function, so....I was just commenting.
Anyway, it was called for six thirty (cocktails) with dinner at seven. It was at a golf club in the city and there was a golfing option which I, really the four of us, forewent. I am no golfer. The fun was in anticipating who would be there. We arrive, in separate cars, only to find that one of the alumni was leaving....in a snit. It seems he was "upset" that WO did not tell him of the event, or our little pre-party. Easy come, easy go.
It was cool seeing the turn out, but some of the absences were notable. I ended up sitting at a table with six other guys from my pledge class. That was cool. I was struck by something, aren't I always. As I looked around me at all these guys that I knew in their 20s, and keep in mind I am in the same boat, I noticed that we all kind of look like babies. Let me explain, when the lad was born, and as I see with my four month old nephew, babies, when born with hair, have their heads grow as they age, but the hair does not. It is the same amount of hair, but left to cover a larger head. It just does not work.
There I am noticing that we are bunch of dudes whose heads look like they have grown but the hair has not followed suit. The bald spots and billboard size foreheads really did illustrate the disconnect between reality and my perception of us all, age wise. That is true except for one of the guys, RC. His hairline has not changed since then and he had/has a thick head of hair (like Stalin, I tell ya). I am telling you the dude has not aged. I wonder what is up with that. Did he sell his soul to the devil? I am thinking that he sold the Boston Pizza's soul to the Devil. Good for him, out smarting Satan. Cool.
Ciao!
The Boston Pizza struck me as a strange place. It was so damn American suburban. I say that in a bad way. I mean it is like their is an attempt to appear kitschy and retro-hip, pub/sportsbar like, but it falls flat. My point is the place has NO SOUL!!!! It is to sportsbars/restaurants like Dire Straits "Brother in Arms" was to music. It may be set up well (sound great) but there is something rather empty about both. Neither has a soul, it was processed out of them both. Then again, it was a midpoint place to grab a drink before heading to this function, so....I was just commenting.
Anyway, it was called for six thirty (cocktails) with dinner at seven. It was at a golf club in the city and there was a golfing option which I, really the four of us, forewent. I am no golfer. The fun was in anticipating who would be there. We arrive, in separate cars, only to find that one of the alumni was leaving....in a snit. It seems he was "upset" that WO did not tell him of the event, or our little pre-party. Easy come, easy go.
It was cool seeing the turn out, but some of the absences were notable. I ended up sitting at a table with six other guys from my pledge class. That was cool. I was struck by something, aren't I always. As I looked around me at all these guys that I knew in their 20s, and keep in mind I am in the same boat, I noticed that we all kind of look like babies. Let me explain, when the lad was born, and as I see with my four month old nephew, babies, when born with hair, have their heads grow as they age, but the hair does not. It is the same amount of hair, but left to cover a larger head. It just does not work.
There I am noticing that we are bunch of dudes whose heads look like they have grown but the hair has not followed suit. The bald spots and billboard size foreheads really did illustrate the disconnect between reality and my perception of us all, age wise. That is true except for one of the guys, RC. His hairline has not changed since then and he had/has a thick head of hair (like Stalin, I tell ya). I am telling you the dude has not aged. I wonder what is up with that. Did he sell his soul to the devil? I am thinking that he sold the Boston Pizza's soul to the Devil. Good for him, out smarting Satan. Cool.
Ciao!
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Huge babies, squirrels and monkeys
I am back. Just reading about some Connecticut woman who broke the record for biggest baby. She gave birth to a 14 pound 13 ounce son. Apparently, the kid came out fully dressed, too. That sound you heard was not Velcro ripping. All I can say is "OUCH!". I do not think that this more comment.
Yup, I got nothing. I am listening to The Strokes, though, so that has to count for something. Life's simple pleasures, good tunes.
Have I mentioned that I hate squirrels? Well, I do. I see NO use for those fucking bushy tailed rats. I am not fond of rats either, but at least they try to remain invisible. Out of sight, out of mind must be the rat motto. Not those fucking squirrels! They are everywhere...on the neighbor's roof....in the trees.......in the garbage.......in the street........run over by a car and flattened with innards hanging out (that cannot be good, whatever you are. But, I do not seem to mind them that way, one less I have to be concerned with). Everywhere!
Okay, I am centered once again. Deep breath. It could be worse. It could be alligators. Then again, I would love to see an alligator on the neighbor's roof or in the trees, just once, anyway. Looking at it through a window gives a sense of security. It is kind of like African Lion Safari without having the monkeys shit on the car. What gets rid of monkey shit? You have to clean the car pretty quickly because that monkey shit is like sufuric acid, it starts eating through the paint on contact. The only thing worse for your car's paint is Monkee shit, especially Mickey Dolenz shit, or, maybe Peter Tork.
No psychotic phone calls lately. I am in avoid mode with that one. That is all I have to say for now. Ciao!
Yup, I got nothing. I am listening to The Strokes, though, so that has to count for something. Life's simple pleasures, good tunes.
Have I mentioned that I hate squirrels? Well, I do. I see NO use for those fucking bushy tailed rats. I am not fond of rats either, but at least they try to remain invisible. Out of sight, out of mind must be the rat motto. Not those fucking squirrels! They are everywhere...on the neighbor's roof....in the trees.......in the garbage.......in the street........run over by a car and flattened with innards hanging out (that cannot be good, whatever you are. But, I do not seem to mind them that way, one less I have to be concerned with). Everywhere!
Okay, I am centered once again. Deep breath. It could be worse. It could be alligators. Then again, I would love to see an alligator on the neighbor's roof or in the trees, just once, anyway. Looking at it through a window gives a sense of security. It is kind of like African Lion Safari without having the monkeys shit on the car. What gets rid of monkey shit? You have to clean the car pretty quickly because that monkey shit is like sufuric acid, it starts eating through the paint on contact. The only thing worse for your car's paint is Monkee shit, especially Mickey Dolenz shit, or, maybe Peter Tork.
No psychotic phone calls lately. I am in avoid mode with that one. That is all I have to say for now. Ciao!
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
We be lithenin' to adult contemporary music
I am back. I have to say that I am listening to music that would cause me to make fun of me. It is fucking adult contemporary, lite, shit. Yet when I go to change it, I get a song that is worth while. I just heard some Al Green (Let's Stay Together) and now it is Elton John (Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me). I know I have made fun of Sir Elton before and it all holds true. This song is from Caribou in 1974. I remember slow dancing with my grade school girlfriend(s) to this song, my hand on her prepubescent ass. That was quite an ass for someone that age. Years later, keep in mind I have not seen this particular girl in about 20 years though a friend saw her recently and she is divorced, or separated, with two kids, so I mean in her early twenties, she had quite the pear shape. She had no tits and wide hips, okay a big ass. She had tits, they were just rather small and given her hips, it was just disproportionate.
There you have it, I have taken you from crappy music to the variability of the human body in one paragraph. What a journey. I am tired. I need a nap. That is not a bad idea given this gray, rainy day.
Well, they finally finished the pool at Mayfair. They gutted the six year old pool and put in a salt water system. It was as if they were doing it for their members. The only trouble with their rationale is that the old chlorine system did what chlorine systems do, especially indoors, corrode everything, the concrete, tiles, filter system and pipes. The salt water systems do not corrode as quickly so maintenance and replacement costs should go down, though the capital costs of installing the system are greater.
Anyway, they now have signs saying the swimmers are to take a shower with soap before entering the pool. It is the same sign that reiterates the Province of Ontario regulation for public swimming pools that the bathers should shower with soap and water beforehand. In forty odd, and I do mean odd, years of life, I cannot say I have ever seen anybody shower with soap and water before swimming. So to the Mayfair crew, that is it, that sign will do the trick. People always obey signs, especially those printed on flower-bordered paper.
That is it for me today. Ciao!
There you have it, I have taken you from crappy music to the variability of the human body in one paragraph. What a journey. I am tired. I need a nap. That is not a bad idea given this gray, rainy day.
Well, they finally finished the pool at Mayfair. They gutted the six year old pool and put in a salt water system. It was as if they were doing it for their members. The only trouble with their rationale is that the old chlorine system did what chlorine systems do, especially indoors, corrode everything, the concrete, tiles, filter system and pipes. The salt water systems do not corrode as quickly so maintenance and replacement costs should go down, though the capital costs of installing the system are greater.
Anyway, they now have signs saying the swimmers are to take a shower with soap before entering the pool. It is the same sign that reiterates the Province of Ontario regulation for public swimming pools that the bathers should shower with soap and water beforehand. In forty odd, and I do mean odd, years of life, I cannot say I have ever seen anybody shower with soap and water before swimming. So to the Mayfair crew, that is it, that sign will do the trick. People always obey signs, especially those printed on flower-bordered paper.
That is it for me today. Ciao!
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Take a sniff and smell the blue cheese
I am back. It is another screwy type pad, but who cares and none of you see it, so.....
I checked and the other Psychotic Sunday was a posting called the Day of Disconnect and it was October 2nd of last year. I was off by a month, but the point is still valid, though modified. It is not a Sunday in September type of deal but a Sunday thing. Sunday in the fall, not just football but football and psychoses. I think that the NFL could use that tag line, given the incidences of steroid rage ('roid rage) among some of those NFL behemoths.
The outlaws were over for dinner on Friday. That was fun. I barbecued some burgers and got compliments all around. My mother in law, in order to be nice, compliments me before she even takes a bite. WTF! Am I blind? Who is she kidding, my fucking eyes fail to take in the sight of her actually biting the thing? I called her on it. I mean, say nothing or "lie" (it would not matter if she liked it or not, she would still say it was wonderful. You could serve the woman shit on a stick with a parsley garnish and she will tell you it is wonderful, it is nice but not something I will actually hang my hat on as feedback.)
Anyway, my wife is telling her father that we had blue cheese burgers the night before. They were President's Choice. They were made with blue cheese. They were pretty good. I did have to get over the blue cheese stink as they were on the grill. Man, that smell is pungent. When the lad was little and capable of sitting in the shopping cart, I would take him by the cheese and put the packs up to his nose for him to smell. His face when smelling the blue cheese was priceless. Come to think of it, that explains his reluctance to try anything I suggest he try (be it food or anything). I guess we really do reap what we sew.
Anyway, my father in law responds that he has never had blue cheese. It was more like, what the hell is that blue cheese? I have never had anything like that before. The wife argues with him but he cannot fathom blue cheese. The fact is we were at a steak house for his birthday (and the lad) and he had blue cheese dressing on his salad like I did. So, the point is.....he's demented.
Yes, they were gone by seven thirty, without dessert or tea. That was not in doubt. That was okay, though. It was getting dark and even I could hear the voices. Radio. Duck. Paste. They said. Fuck if I know what it means, they weren't my voices.
I was thinking of getting him together with yesterday's psychosis subject. I am thinking of a cage match...Dementia vs Psychosis, who would win. I can see big bucks in the pay per view. Who is with me to help bankroll this puppy? Ciao!
I checked and the other Psychotic Sunday was a posting called the Day of Disconnect and it was October 2nd of last year. I was off by a month, but the point is still valid, though modified. It is not a Sunday in September type of deal but a Sunday thing. Sunday in the fall, not just football but football and psychoses. I think that the NFL could use that tag line, given the incidences of steroid rage ('roid rage) among some of those NFL behemoths.
The outlaws were over for dinner on Friday. That was fun. I barbecued some burgers and got compliments all around. My mother in law, in order to be nice, compliments me before she even takes a bite. WTF! Am I blind? Who is she kidding, my fucking eyes fail to take in the sight of her actually biting the thing? I called her on it. I mean, say nothing or "lie" (it would not matter if she liked it or not, she would still say it was wonderful. You could serve the woman shit on a stick with a parsley garnish and she will tell you it is wonderful, it is nice but not something I will actually hang my hat on as feedback.)
Anyway, my wife is telling her father that we had blue cheese burgers the night before. They were President's Choice. They were made with blue cheese. They were pretty good. I did have to get over the blue cheese stink as they were on the grill. Man, that smell is pungent. When the lad was little and capable of sitting in the shopping cart, I would take him by the cheese and put the packs up to his nose for him to smell. His face when smelling the blue cheese was priceless. Come to think of it, that explains his reluctance to try anything I suggest he try (be it food or anything). I guess we really do reap what we sew.
Anyway, my father in law responds that he has never had blue cheese. It was more like, what the hell is that blue cheese? I have never had anything like that before. The wife argues with him but he cannot fathom blue cheese. The fact is we were at a steak house for his birthday (and the lad) and he had blue cheese dressing on his salad like I did. So, the point is.....he's demented.
Yes, they were gone by seven thirty, without dessert or tea. That was not in doubt. That was okay, though. It was getting dark and even I could hear the voices. Radio. Duck. Paste. They said. Fuck if I know what it means, they weren't my voices.
I was thinking of getting him together with yesterday's psychosis subject. I am thinking of a cage match...Dementia vs Psychosis, who would win. I can see big bucks in the pay per view. Who is with me to help bankroll this puppy? Ciao!
Monday, September 11, 2006
Just another Psychotic Sunday
I am back. Again, it is screwy font time on this type pad, but it has worked out in the past so I figure it will work out again. What is it about this Sunday in September that causes my path to cross with somebody who is mentally ill? If you recall last year (I could check the archives for veracity, but will only do so later) that as we came home from the WalMart (a bit of ethnic culture for us here, and I am not quite sure of the ethnicity, though) we saw the woman, in her Sunday finery, sashaying down the sidewalk with her fingers to her ears as if she were talking on a cell phone (there was none). When she caught my eye, she said to me "Fucking N***ers (I cannot bring myself to say it or write it as it could be taken out of context and I do not want that)! Fucking Jews! (I do not have a problem with that one as I could explain that one)" To which I caught myself before escalating the situation, and thought that she should have added "Fucking Mentally Ill!"
That was then and this is yesterday. I am sitting at home, minding my own business, when the phone rings. I answer (mistake?). It is a former customer who is mentally ill. She has been calling me for the last eleven years, sometimes more frequently than I can stand, but she cannot help herself. She calls and is all worried about being removed from the provincial health insurance plan, being arrested and going to jail. Can you say psychotic episode? Damn woman cannot help but listen to the voices in her head. Have they been correct yet? I would say "no" but listen to them she must. I am thinking she hears the voices 24/7, light or dark, but not being inside her head (I do not have the proper gear for that, though I think rubber hip waders would be a necessary item) I do not know for certain.
Now, I have to try to convince a psychotic with paranoid delusions that the voices she hears are the voices of an idiot. Again, I have to be brutally honest, so say nothing is certain and all is possible. I mean it is possible the voices she hears are correct and they are coming to take her away and "torture" her (her word not mine). The funniest part is that this is the story she always has and I have seen this play out over the past ten or so years. When I bring up that fact, I get that it is different this time. She thinks that she has been harrassing her doctors and that she has done some sociopathic things lately. Again, I am not there so all I can do is analyze the data that I am given.
First, can a psychotic be a sociopath? I think the break with reality makes it difficult to actually be aware of what you are doing and whether it is hurtful to somebody. In any event, I could be a great sociopath if I were so inclined and she does not even come to the meetings, so....
Second, as I analyze the situation, I cannot help be struck by the fact that somebody with paranoid delusions (fears asassination and government persecution, like she has state secrets, right she is fucking character in a Robert Ludlum novel)is trying to convince me that it is all real. I am sitting there thinking that I am supposed to take the word of somebody who has obvious difficulty in reality perception at her word. It just will not happen.
I tell her that explicitly. Then I get the old stand by "You don't understand" followed by "Do you understand what I am saying?" I reply with "light. frog. dish." She goes to contemplate that sudden and surreal turn of events. I then tell her that she probably will not be arrested and if she is, she is hospital bound. I then tell her that she is narcissistic, or at least the voices are, to think that people in public places are actually talking about her. That seems to calm her somewhat and she hangs up.
I get a second call, with the same insane loop. Like I cannot tell she is having a psychotic episode. I guess the psychiatrist was correct when he told me that if you can hold out the possibility that what you think or say is delusional, you are probably not delusional. I get the same loop of questions. Man, it is not like I do not have enough of this looped shit in my life, what with the wife, her father, her mother, my mother, etc. It is like living Groundhog Day, but the day fucking changes but the lessons are not heeded or learned. It is rerun city and I crave the novel.
I placate her. Two hours later, it is the same shit. The phone, the questions, my blunt answers. I then put my cards on the table and tell her I know she is psychotic and having an episode. I tell her I do not buy into her conclusions because I have heard this story so many times over the years and NOTHING has come of it (though time has marched on, she still apologizes for shit from eleven years ago, which I have told her to get over). I then get asked if I am angry. I answer no, but here is what I hear and what I see and what I have seen. I do not want any misinterpretation, though that is a futile want in the situation. Who cares what I want, it is all about what I do.
She has not called back since, but three calls in a three hour period is too much for my liking. Though she does have the full package...delusions, paranoia, hallucinations and an obsession with the past, and she is a heavy smoker in her 50s. Anybody want me to set them up? She may be lesbian, she told me that once and that my wife should not fear her as she is not after me. That is how I like my women, psychotic. It saves me the trouble of coming up with explainations for my behavior. I just put on the devil mask and string together a bunch of unrelated nouns. It leaves them silent, thinking and putting it all together.
I am an asshole. Anyway, that leads me to believe that this must be Psychotic Sunday. Maybe it has something to do with 9/11 (today is five years since), I just do not know. But damn, the mentally ill do seem to find me. Ciao!
That was then and this is yesterday. I am sitting at home, minding my own business, when the phone rings. I answer (mistake?). It is a former customer who is mentally ill. She has been calling me for the last eleven years, sometimes more frequently than I can stand, but she cannot help herself. She calls and is all worried about being removed from the provincial health insurance plan, being arrested and going to jail. Can you say psychotic episode? Damn woman cannot help but listen to the voices in her head. Have they been correct yet? I would say "no" but listen to them she must. I am thinking she hears the voices 24/7, light or dark, but not being inside her head (I do not have the proper gear for that, though I think rubber hip waders would be a necessary item) I do not know for certain.
Now, I have to try to convince a psychotic with paranoid delusions that the voices she hears are the voices of an idiot. Again, I have to be brutally honest, so say nothing is certain and all is possible. I mean it is possible the voices she hears are correct and they are coming to take her away and "torture" her (her word not mine). The funniest part is that this is the story she always has and I have seen this play out over the past ten or so years. When I bring up that fact, I get that it is different this time. She thinks that she has been harrassing her doctors and that she has done some sociopathic things lately. Again, I am not there so all I can do is analyze the data that I am given.
First, can a psychotic be a sociopath? I think the break with reality makes it difficult to actually be aware of what you are doing and whether it is hurtful to somebody. In any event, I could be a great sociopath if I were so inclined and she does not even come to the meetings, so....
Second, as I analyze the situation, I cannot help be struck by the fact that somebody with paranoid delusions (fears asassination and government persecution, like she has state secrets, right she is fucking character in a Robert Ludlum novel)is trying to convince me that it is all real. I am sitting there thinking that I am supposed to take the word of somebody who has obvious difficulty in reality perception at her word. It just will not happen.
I tell her that explicitly. Then I get the old stand by "You don't understand" followed by "Do you understand what I am saying?" I reply with "light. frog. dish." She goes to contemplate that sudden and surreal turn of events. I then tell her that she probably will not be arrested and if she is, she is hospital bound. I then tell her that she is narcissistic, or at least the voices are, to think that people in public places are actually talking about her. That seems to calm her somewhat and she hangs up.
I get a second call, with the same insane loop. Like I cannot tell she is having a psychotic episode. I guess the psychiatrist was correct when he told me that if you can hold out the possibility that what you think or say is delusional, you are probably not delusional. I get the same loop of questions. Man, it is not like I do not have enough of this looped shit in my life, what with the wife, her father, her mother, my mother, etc. It is like living Groundhog Day, but the day fucking changes but the lessons are not heeded or learned. It is rerun city and I crave the novel.
I placate her. Two hours later, it is the same shit. The phone, the questions, my blunt answers. I then put my cards on the table and tell her I know she is psychotic and having an episode. I tell her I do not buy into her conclusions because I have heard this story so many times over the years and NOTHING has come of it (though time has marched on, she still apologizes for shit from eleven years ago, which I have told her to get over). I then get asked if I am angry. I answer no, but here is what I hear and what I see and what I have seen. I do not want any misinterpretation, though that is a futile want in the situation. Who cares what I want, it is all about what I do.
She has not called back since, but three calls in a three hour period is too much for my liking. Though she does have the full package...delusions, paranoia, hallucinations and an obsession with the past, and she is a heavy smoker in her 50s. Anybody want me to set them up? She may be lesbian, she told me that once and that my wife should not fear her as she is not after me. That is how I like my women, psychotic. It saves me the trouble of coming up with explainations for my behavior. I just put on the devil mask and string together a bunch of unrelated nouns. It leaves them silent, thinking and putting it all together.
I am an asshole. Anyway, that leads me to believe that this must be Psychotic Sunday. Maybe it has something to do with 9/11 (today is five years since), I just do not know. But damn, the mentally ill do seem to find me. Ciao!
Friday, September 08, 2006
A little story
I am back. True story, or is it? The phone rings yesterday and I do not recognize the number or name. In a fit of my own insanity, I actually answer the phone.
"Hello."
"Is Susan there?" says the female voice on the other end of the connection.
"I am sorry. Susan cannot speak right now, my dick is in her mouth."
Silence
"Ahhhhhhh! Ohhhhhh!", I moan.
I, then hang up. I am such an asshole, sometimes.
Ciao!
"Hello."
"Is Susan there?" says the female voice on the other end of the connection.
"I am sorry. Susan cannot speak right now, my dick is in her mouth."
Silence
"Ahhhhhhh! Ohhhhhh!", I moan.
I, then hang up. I am such an asshole, sometimes.
Ciao!
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Southern Fried chicken without the southern or fried. That just leaves a disgusting bird.
I am back. It was a bit of a grey weekend up here. As I mentioned in the previous post, it was that damn tropical depression without the benefits of being in the tropics. Oh well, at least it was warm and there was no snow. No complaints from this corner.
There was my time at Mayfair. Different dude there but the same stink, or a different stink but a stink nonetheless. The best part was that I caught a whiff when after the dude worked out but before he showered. He stunk, but that could have been sweat stink. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt, or is that stink. Unfortunately, the stink remained after his shower. What is up with that?
I did get to spend four hours in the land of the insane this weekend, or as it euphemistically referred to in these parts, Friday night dinner with the outlaws. It was another evening of my father in law "finding" an unopened bottle of concord grape kosher wine (does it matter what brand?) and asking if I wanted some "wine". For the umpteenth time, I turn to him and remind him firmly but in my arrogant and condescending manner (I am such an asshole, but that is the life of the sarcastic male) that the crap he is trying to foist on me is not "wine" but grape juice gone bad. Cut that shit with some soda water and it may be drinkable and get you a bit of a buzz. The downside is that any buzz you get will bring about a dehydration headache of epic proportions. The man should try Thunderbird. Besides, does he really need the alcohol in his system? How the hell could I tell if he were drunk or tipsy? He is "naturally" confused so how can you tell if it is drunk confusion or just his regular version. I am waiting for a slurred, "David, you're my beshhhhhht friend!"
The meal does qualify as one of the worst on record. My mother in law, bless her heart, makes a veal roast. She knows my wife won't eat it and has poisoned the lad from eating such things. There was "Southern Fried" chicken that is an insult to Southern Fried chicken. There was no "Southern" and it certainly was not fried. It was Shake n Bake all the way, but not real Shake 'n Bake but the "No Name" version. As it had the bone in, my wife and the lad were not going to eat it. I would not because her chicken has the texture of mashed potatoes, yet her mashed potatoes are dry and lumpy. Go figure. There was some sort of noodle pudding made with spaghetti and some sort of limp, lifeless green thing (spinach? Fuck if I know what that is and fuck if I will put that shit in my mouth!). Again, I know how it will taste, like fucking cardboard (and that is an insult to the taste of cardboard) with the mouth feel of well overcooked pasta (blahhh!). At least there was a green salad and overcooked prepared egg rolls. I love how the fried outer dough becomes soft and mushy when they are reheated.
My brother in law and father in law seem to eat that shit up. My father in law loves it. He, however, has always had the palate of a goat, so that is not saying much. He loved Sizzler. Look how much food you could get for six bucks. But it is crap. Yes, but look how much you get. He always had the Spinal Tap attitude towards food, it is not about quality but quantity (he gets "eleven"). Yet, my mother in law will not seek out feedback. Somehow, she has some sort of hysterical blindness and cannot see the lack of food my wife, son or I eat when we are there.
Bless her heart, she is great at denial. She has taken it to an art form. The biggest problem is that I am walking dose of "Anti-denial". I cannot help but see the "truth" or bigger picture and have to point it out. I know that "hurts" the denier, but fuck it, I gotta be me. Ciao!
There was my time at Mayfair. Different dude there but the same stink, or a different stink but a stink nonetheless. The best part was that I caught a whiff when after the dude worked out but before he showered. He stunk, but that could have been sweat stink. I was giving him the benefit of the doubt, or is that stink. Unfortunately, the stink remained after his shower. What is up with that?
I did get to spend four hours in the land of the insane this weekend, or as it euphemistically referred to in these parts, Friday night dinner with the outlaws. It was another evening of my father in law "finding" an unopened bottle of concord grape kosher wine (does it matter what brand?) and asking if I wanted some "wine". For the umpteenth time, I turn to him and remind him firmly but in my arrogant and condescending manner (I am such an asshole, but that is the life of the sarcastic male) that the crap he is trying to foist on me is not "wine" but grape juice gone bad. Cut that shit with some soda water and it may be drinkable and get you a bit of a buzz. The downside is that any buzz you get will bring about a dehydration headache of epic proportions. The man should try Thunderbird. Besides, does he really need the alcohol in his system? How the hell could I tell if he were drunk or tipsy? He is "naturally" confused so how can you tell if it is drunk confusion or just his regular version. I am waiting for a slurred, "David, you're my beshhhhhht friend!"
The meal does qualify as one of the worst on record. My mother in law, bless her heart, makes a veal roast. She knows my wife won't eat it and has poisoned the lad from eating such things. There was "Southern Fried" chicken that is an insult to Southern Fried chicken. There was no "Southern" and it certainly was not fried. It was Shake n Bake all the way, but not real Shake 'n Bake but the "No Name" version. As it had the bone in, my wife and the lad were not going to eat it. I would not because her chicken has the texture of mashed potatoes, yet her mashed potatoes are dry and lumpy. Go figure. There was some sort of noodle pudding made with spaghetti and some sort of limp, lifeless green thing (spinach? Fuck if I know what that is and fuck if I will put that shit in my mouth!). Again, I know how it will taste, like fucking cardboard (and that is an insult to the taste of cardboard) with the mouth feel of well overcooked pasta (blahhh!). At least there was a green salad and overcooked prepared egg rolls. I love how the fried outer dough becomes soft and mushy when they are reheated.
My brother in law and father in law seem to eat that shit up. My father in law loves it. He, however, has always had the palate of a goat, so that is not saying much. He loved Sizzler. Look how much food you could get for six bucks. But it is crap. Yes, but look how much you get. He always had the Spinal Tap attitude towards food, it is not about quality but quantity (he gets "eleven"). Yet, my mother in law will not seek out feedback. Somehow, she has some sort of hysterical blindness and cannot see the lack of food my wife, son or I eat when we are there.
Bless her heart, she is great at denial. She has taken it to an art form. The biggest problem is that I am walking dose of "Anti-denial". I cannot help but see the "truth" or bigger picture and have to point it out. I know that "hurts" the denier, but fuck it, I gotta be me. Ciao!
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Ernesto a tropical depression without the tropical
I am back. It is an odd Sunday and I had a thought yesterday. The rain we saw was the result of Ernesto, a hurricane downgraded to a tropical storm downgraded to a tropical depression by the time it hit us here in the north. By the time it reached us it was merely a tropical depression (I am repeating myself, so consider it a stutter). We are nowhere near the tropics, so I think that "tropical" is out. So what does that leave us with......depression.
That is the happy thought of the yesterday. It was good though it was rainy.
Enjoy the remainder of the long weekend. Ciao!
That is the happy thought of the yesterday. It was good though it was rainy.
Enjoy the remainder of the long weekend. Ciao!
Friday, September 01, 2006
Funkytown is just a stop on the way to Crazytown
I am back. I did see something funny today. I saw a dude on one of those scooters. You know the type that people with difficulty walking are using (like George in Seinfeld while he was at Play It Again Sports after he tumbled down the stairs in the Summer of George after his trade from the Yankees to Tyson Chicken in Arkansas-the most long winded set up ever). The dude was "driving" on the road in an industrial area. The amazing thing is that he looked like Jerry Garcia.
I know it could not be Jerry because he has been dead since 1995. This guy was a dead ringer for him though. He did lack the tie dye shit and guitar. Can you see Jerry Garcia on stage with the Dead (I guess that is who he is playing with these days, reunited with all the keyboard players from the Dead that died before he) playing while rolling around with a scooter? Picture that one.
Well, it is almost weekend time. This one starts with a trip to the outlaws. I have to put on my game face before going to "Crazytown". It is the loop of sameness that strikes me and one that I find harder and harder to face. It is like watching reruns. It is good for children because they crave familiarity. Me, as much as I can handle familiarity, I find more fun in the new and unknown. There is none of that there. It is sad.
The wife and lad made their annual pilgramige to the Canadian National Exhibition, or as it is called here, "The Dirtiest Show on Earth". That is not the grounds but a combination of that and the people. It is one big infection as far as I am concerned. My father NEVER took us as kids, and I wanted to go. I did go down with friends as soon as I was old enough to go alone (11 or so). The funniest part is that I understand my father's aversion to that swine pit. My brother is the same way. They did have fun and even better, I did not have to be there.
I am done for this week. Have a great long weekend all of you! Ciao!
I know it could not be Jerry because he has been dead since 1995. This guy was a dead ringer for him though. He did lack the tie dye shit and guitar. Can you see Jerry Garcia on stage with the Dead (I guess that is who he is playing with these days, reunited with all the keyboard players from the Dead that died before he) playing while rolling around with a scooter? Picture that one.
Well, it is almost weekend time. This one starts with a trip to the outlaws. I have to put on my game face before going to "Crazytown". It is the loop of sameness that strikes me and one that I find harder and harder to face. It is like watching reruns. It is good for children because they crave familiarity. Me, as much as I can handle familiarity, I find more fun in the new and unknown. There is none of that there. It is sad.
The wife and lad made their annual pilgramige to the Canadian National Exhibition, or as it is called here, "The Dirtiest Show on Earth". That is not the grounds but a combination of that and the people. It is one big infection as far as I am concerned. My father NEVER took us as kids, and I wanted to go. I did go down with friends as soon as I was old enough to go alone (11 or so). The funniest part is that I understand my father's aversion to that swine pit. My brother is the same way. They did have fun and even better, I did not have to be there.
I am done for this week. Have a great long weekend all of you! Ciao!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
