Weeds

As we get older, some really strange changes occur to our bodies. For us guys especially, our hair does some wild things. Several things can happen. Inevitably it will turn grey. It can thin out or get more coarse. It can fall out partially or completely. That applies to the scalp, but what about the rest of the body? Well, let's start with the eyebrows. Have you ever seen the old guys that look like they have barbed wire for eyebrows? Please, trim 'em up fellas. Big bushy brows do not make you look distinguished. See your barber. Send the trimmings to BP to help with the oil cleanup. I've seen some guys whose brows could have single-handedly cleaned up after the Exxon Valdez disaster. It's embarrassing. And what about those hairs that sprout up in and on the ears? I call them earweeds. I have mine under control for the most part. Some that grow on that little peninsula or flap next to the sideburns can require help from my wife. Nobody else loves me enough to dig in my ears. Pull the weeds guys, otherwise your ears will look like a bad Chia Pet. Now let's talk about those pesky noseweeds. First of all, what purpose do they serve? They grow in all directions from every part of the inner landscape and if you don't control them, the results are catastrophic.First, nobody and I mean nobody wants to see noseweeds flowing from your nostrils. Besides looking disgusting, the problem can compound itself if you have a cold. The hairs act as flypaper trapping stray mucous . Now you have mini Christmas trees with green ornaments hanging out of your nose. Not cool. You can avoid that humiliation if you would mow regularly. Besides, a trimmed nose will allow clear passage for snot rockets. You've seen guys pinch one nostril and propel a green bullet from the other nostril. The force behind the launch guarantees a clear and clean sinus cavity. However, if you have a nose full of vegetation, your trajectory will be interrupted, and your rocket will break apart into a booger pot pie. Again, not cool. Let's tidy up, guys.

I just can't do it!

This posting thing is kickin' my a$$. I wanted to post an image and then start my text below the image, but the cursor won't allow me to move it from the top of the page next to the top of the image to a postion right below the image. Of course I'm a computer nit and I know my way around a keyboard about as well as Lady Gaga knows her way around the Brooks Brothers women's department. So I'm gonna insert the image and we'll see what develops. Here goes... DAGNABBIT!!. See? Sumbitch! Oh well, on with my post.

I always wished I could draw when I was growin' up. Still do. Unfortunately, my attempts are only worthy of an Abstract Art exhibit in a third world country. For instance, take a look at Bugs. Now, I'm sure some of y'all can look at the picture and draw freehand a very close copy to the original. However, when I try to draw, my rabbit looks more like the unfortunate victim of a run in with an 18-wheeler. Blood and guts with long ears and whiskers. What a crock! I'm 54 years old and I can't even draw a straight line or a circle, much less a cartoon. I went to grade school with a guy named Tim Rafferty. He was amazing. He could draw anything. All of the dimensions were perfect. He didn't even need a picture to help him. He even drew anatomical parts. Wow! How the hell did he know what THAT looked like? Sure enough, when I finally saw ONE, it was just like Tim's drawing back in grade school, except in living color. Oh yeah, where was I? So, since I have no artistic talent, I began to wonder where my daughter, Cara, picked up her skills. Probably from my wife. She could at least draw a grid on some plywood and come up with Bert and Ernie Christmas yard decorations. Not me. I can't even draw with the help of a grid or even a sheet of onion paper. Funny, that paper don't smell anything like an onion to me. Anyway, I remain envious of people who have the talent to draw anything they want. And what about tattoo artists? I've seen people with tattoos that Michaelangelo couldn't paint and they're in places I think even Tim Rafferty didn't know about way back when. Who knew that ink and needles would turn into a cable TV show. And you can't hardly find a basketball player who doesn't look like a bad LSD trip at a marijuana convention. I can't imagine any of them having a soap sponsor.Coppertone and Banana Boat won't be interested either.
Well, back to the drawing board, so to speak. Have a great weekend!

Impressions!

Since my last blog regarding my defecatory (sic) adventures, I have been observing the palpable attenuation of my journalistic endeavors. As puerile as my last narrative may have been perceived, it was in fact an indisputable attempt at wittiness. I will now undertake the task of writing a more intellectual conveyance of my thoughts. I have always admired people who have command of the english language. My former posts were meant to be entertaining or thought provoking. However, sometimes my ruminations became somewhat shambolic, risible, and not worthy of the meritocracy of experienced writers. I hope to enlighten all who read this post. It may require copious exploration of Roget's and Mirriam-Webster, but the edification will prove to be most advantageous for use with your future dialectics. George Will's columns and commentaries are a good source of vocabulary challenges. Where should I begin? I want to make sure that I don't militate further reading of this propitious post. I will try to be apposite at the risk of not being too loquacious. I'm sure you find our language to be as insuperable as a person's feelings. Fear not, because our computers are inestimable when it comes to harvesting information. We can surmount endless quandaries with a few clicks of a mouse. I can't imagine how I could ascertain knowledge without one. Yet, there are some minds out there as formidable as a computer and I count my brother as one of those with a seemingly endless amount of current and historical information. Since I'm deficient in my word skills, I sometimes rely on my brother to facilitate my need for learning. If I had read more than Catcher in the Rye and The Godfather, I might have been better steeled to assimilate "big' words, but the pictures in Playboy were better suited for my learning abilities at that time. By now I'm sure you have figured out how meretricious this gallimaufry of words has become. I will wind down this calamitous attempt at posting by asking "who am I trying to kid?" It's taken me two weeks to research the words for this post. I could have written Gone With the Wind in the amount of time I've wasted for this. I won't even remember half of the words I've written in this post. I could have finished sandblasting the $hit shrapnel my drizzlies left behind in my toilet. I could have grown hair to donate to all of the guys sporting toupees. I could have watched Shawshank another 200 times. I can't keep up with George Will and my brother. So, I propose a toast to everybody with a limited vocabulary. Eat, drink, and be happy. It's not how big the words are that make an impression, it's how big your heart is that makes your words and actions impressive. I sure am glad this post is done. My peroration is over. Have a great day!

The Drizzlies

There seems to be some kind of bug that has decided to try to make a liar out of me. First, my two sons, Maps and Pappy came down with a double-barrelled dose a few weeks ago. Then, a couple of weeks later my wife was attacked by the same unwelcomed intruder. The symptons were simple and unpleasant. That would be the complete discharge of contents of the digestive system from stem to stern. That's right. Paintin' the porcelain and blowin' beets in harmony. It's unbelievable that the human digestive tract can contain so much...well...CRAP. Of course that really dosen't bother me. As long as it exits through the proper orifice, it really isn't that bad. However, the unrefined stomach contents that are violently rejected and ejected, that's a whole different story and I'd like to brag for a minute. I haven't hurled in over thirty years. I simply refuse to. I'll do anything possible to force everything out of the south port. I'll sit on the throne for hours if that's what it takes. I'll stuff a sock in my mouth and hold my nose. I won't allow myself the agony of calling "ralph". I much prefer the back-door trots or the "drizzlies" as I like to call my watery feces. Well, this past Monday I started feeling "sick" at work. I should tell you that I don't get sick, thank God. I haven't called in sick for almost as long as I haven't puked. Anyway, I left work on time on Monday feeling quite nauseous. I just figured business as usual. I'll get home and drop the kids off at the pool and I'll be fine. Unfortunately, the bug had a more sinister plan. I couldn't get warm or comfortable and the pool was already crowded. Then it hit me. I felt that overwhelming urge to surrender Domino's, Taco Cabana, and Whataburger via the enamel highway. Could this really be happening? My thirty year record down the toilet, so to speak? Say it ain't so. "No chunks! No chunks!", I prayed as I walked downstairs away from the toilet I was just standing next to. I'll be damned if I'm gonna lose this battle. So, after many explosive visits to the library, I held on to my cherished record. I won the battle. The bug met his match. I thought I was gonna die there for awhile, but my backside became my best ally. Is that where the term "a$$hole buddies" comes from? Who cares. Al I know is that I was only a couple of hours late to work on Tuesday and my perfect attendance record was preserved. Long live the drizzlies! Long live the drizzlies!

Sorry Folks

I have just been informed by my #1 follower that my "comments" setting was turned off. Doh!!
I have corrected the problem so that my legions of followers can now proclaim the sheer brilliance of my posts. This was purely accidental and I will try not to let it happen again as I enjoy all of the comments that my followers are so eager to send my way. Elvis is back in the building.

Mom

Where do I start? Currently, my mom spends most of her time lying in her bed with the TV on. She can't really see too well so she listens more than she watches. Her favorite shows are Wheel of Fortune and Everybody Loves Raymond. She also spends a lot of her time praying for others, including family and friends who have passed away. She thinks about food constantly. Unfortunately, she can't or won't eat more than a couple of bites of anything. We hired a live-in caregiver to make sure she is medicated, fed, cleaned, and anything else she needs or wants. Medicare provides her weekly visits from nurses and therapists.Through all of this she has told me that she would just like to go to sleep and not wake up. Well, shes fixing to turn 84, so that's not such a disturbing wish. Like her, I believe in Heaven and all of Christ's promises. So in my mind, dying would mean that she could be re-united with her husband, her parents, her sister, and all of her deceased friends. That sounds pretty cool to me, but it's up to God to make that call. Shoot, she may be around for many more years. I just hope she is in better health than she is now if she sticks around. She has myasthenia gravis which is treatable but it will follow her to her grave. Whether she passes sooner or later, she will always be remembered for her love of her family. She was generous to a fault, and she always made time for her grandkids. The Galleria was her home base of sorts and she loved to take the kids ice skating. She also treated them to trips to New York and Europe. If you could put up with her constant complaints about quality and service, you could enjoy her generosity for the most part. However, she had a penchant for embarrassing whoever she was with. She sometimes spoke her mind without any regards for discretion. Store employees would be forced to give in to her demands just to get her on her way. Man, she could wear people out. However, it was a small price to pay to enjoy her attention. She was always there to help even when her help wasn't always welcomed. All she ever wanted was to make sure her family was always taken care of.

So now it's time for her to be cared for. It's time for her to be loved and remembered. It's time to acknowledge her love, generosity, and caring for others. If you know her, call her or better yet, pay her a visit. If you have a similar situation in your family, remember to make the time to show your loved ones you still care. Let them know that they can count on your love and support. I know it can be sometimes unpleasant, but it's worth every minute you can spare. I love my mom and I will make every effort to make the rest of her life as rewarding as she has made mine. I could bore you with more details, but I'm sure that's not necessary. Just be sure to stay close to your mother. Make Mother's Day special this year, even if it's just a simple "I love you, mom."

"Life is too short for the living and life is too long for the dying."

Arthritis! Really? Really?

Who would have thought that this middle-aged, plus-size hunk of a man would develop arthritis at the 54 year mark? Hello, fat-ass. Can you say wake-up call? Haven't your friends and loved ones been politely warning you that looking like a cheeseburger with clothes on, is the pathway to potential health risks? Hell, what do they know anyway. I'm fine, I'm fine. No need to worry. Big is beautiful. There's more of me to love. I'm too short for my weight. Well, tell that to my left knee as I'm limping around like House without his Vicadin. My son-in-law Adam, actually had my symptons diagnosed a couple of weeks ago. I thought I had a more impressive, athletic type of injury, like a torn ACL. I thought for sure I would require surgery which in turn would entail rehab at home. I could lounge in my La-Z-Boy while my wife of 33 years would mix me a drink when I rattled the ice in my glass. Okay, that's not gonna happen, but it was worth some dream time. Anyway, I now take a daily anti-inflammatory and I've been told I need therapy, physical that is. So I limp into the therapist's office and find out that for a mere 180 bucks, I can get an hour of their finest rehab proficiency. Are you kiddin' me? 180 bucks! Insurance aside (I have not met my deductable), I'm not paying anybody any amount of money to put me on a treadmill. I'll just walk it off at home, thank you kindly. My meds only cost me 20 bucks and they're working just fine.A few daily trips to the fridge and the bar will be more than enough exercise. I can even go to Spec's superstore and mosey down every delicious isle until my knee says I've had enough. Of course if I shop and spend, then the therapist might have actually saved me a couple of bucks in the long run.Oh well, who's counting. It's my damn knee and I'll deal with it how I see fit. Let this be a lesson to all of my fellow couch potatoes. If you don't take more time away from food, drink, and TV, you might end up rehabbing at Spec's or Sam's Club. Hey, maybe arthritis ain't so bad after all. Y'all have a great Easter weekend. Stay close to God, family, and friends. Cheers!