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Warning, read this blog first, I implore you!

I posted some old MySpace blogs on here just for grins. Now what I wrote on MySpace was for a very specific audience of my friends and family....therefore, there will be a lot of "inside jokes" and a lot of un-PC references. Perhaps the most offensive thing about these blogs is that they aren't all that funny.   But hey, If you have some time kill, read through and feel free to mock / jeer / diagree.
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MySpace blog 9.22.08

Fouke Monster.....That Funky Monster.... Current mood:curmudgeonly Category: Blogging Well, I've just seen the "teases" for the local news channel. As it turns out, police are raiding a religious compound in Fouke, Arkansas. It is being alleged that minors were forced into sexual situations by the "prophet". Mormons everywhere will breathe easier knowing that this isn't a FLDS compound. That's the good news. The bad news is that the leader of the compound is none other than Tony Alamo (On a side note, let me just interject this: He pronounces his name "uh-LAH-mo" when the word is clearly "AL-uh-mow". I'm not sure exactly why, but this irritates me greatly. Perhaps I keep imagining Sam Houston shouting "Remember the uh-LAH-mo!". Also, I think I can safely say that this parenthetical aside has gone on for far too long). If you don't know who Tony Alamo is, he's the leader of the church that distributed those cool comic book leaflets that assured the reader that they were probably going to hell. Back in the day, after a rock concert at the Hirsh, (didn't matter who was headlining.....Queensryche probably opened for them), an attendee could count on a little comic book under the car windshield.   The comic was usually a morality tale involving some good-hearted, all-American teens that went to see a rock concert....usually over the protestations of their saintly old mothers. The teens go to the show anyway, where one realizes that the seductive music is only a lure...and that everybody in the arena had been tricked into worshiping satan!! Sadly, this realization comes a little late, as there is a car wreck on the journey home. All the good-hearted teens are killed and go directly to hell, where satan laughs and laughs.   Alternately, there was another comic involving the celebration of Halloween (aka "Celebrate Halloween and Make Jesus Cry") that was sometimes distributed, but the rock concert tragedy was usually the 1 fave of the uh-LAH-mow crowd.   I'm not sure how this whole Alamo thing will work out. I WAS glad to see that Tony faced the arresting officers with dignity, wearing his very best tie-dyed shirt and oversized Jim Jones sunglasses. I'm sure this matter will be settled by a jury of his peers....as soon as the court can find 12 nutjob cult leaders not currently doing time in jail (As another aside, I don't have any grudge against weird cult leaders....Cissy and I were married by one! Hey, does that invalidate our marriage?).   As I watched the news story, I was struck by the tone. It was, like, 10% Alamo.....90% residents saying how that Fouke had really, really good things going for it, and how it was a really, really good town, and how they hoped that Alamo hadn't sullied the good reputation of Fouke. Incidentally, Fouke is the small town in Arkansas known for a bigfoot-like monster that some residents have seen running around. Also, Fouke was the town that had a charming little sign at the city limits that read "N*gger, don't let the sun set on you in this town". Also, Fouke is where the residents refer to "Martin Luther King, Jr day" as "Deer Hunting day". Also, Fouke has the dubious honor of having had 2 residents convicted for burning a cross in view of the lone black residents of the town. I sure hope that this whole Alamo thing doesn't ruin the really, really good reputation of Fouke.
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MySpace blog 8.20.07

My patients (and their families) love me! Current mood:placid Category: Blogging There comes a time in everybody's career when you can become almost "too good" at what you do. Before my glorious nights as a sleep therapist, there was a time when I was a formidable respiratory therapist. I had pretty recently changed jobs, moving from my extremely small hometown hospital to the "big city" hospital 30 miles north. As the newest hire, I often got tapped to do the dirtiest jobs. As such, I got be well known (as well known as you can be in a 400 bed hospital, anyway) for a couple of my skills: Drawing arterial blood, and suctioning (Shut up! Not THAT kind of suctioning.....I'm talking about the insertion of a catheter to remove the sputum from the lungs of a patient who's cough has been compromised). The hospital had recently upgraded to a level II trauma facility (the hometown hospital was a level IV, if that helps put things in persepctive), so we started to recieve more and more critical patients. As happens, one day we recieved a patient from around 60 miles away. He had been involved in a pretty bad car accident (MVA, for all you ER-types) and was admitted to our (I)ntensive ©are (U)nit. We will call this patient "Mr. Brown". I was not working in the ICU when Mr. Brown came to stay with us, but I received a call from the therapist that was:   Therapist: Hey man, what are you doing? Me: Not much. I'm almost done. Is it lunchtime yet? Therapist: Almost. I need you to get an ABG for me (that means draw blood) Me: who's it on? Therapist: Mr. Brown, in 5 Me: What's the catch? Therapist: *whistling*   So off I go to draw some blood. When I enter Mr. Brown's room, I see a younger male reclining in bed, covered by a sheet. The bed is angled at 45 degrees to allow Mr. Brown to "sit up" without exerting undue effort. The ICU therapist is waiting for me in the room. "Hello Mr. Brown", I say. "Mmmmurphg", replied Mr. Brown. "He's been heavily sedated due to multiple long bone breaks", explains the therapist. Oooooookay......let's get some blood (I don't want to get super technical here, but the preferred site for drawing the type of blood that I wanted is the wrist). I move to the left side of Mr. Brown's bed and pull down the sheet. His entire arm is covered in a cast, from wrist to well past the elbow. Ok, no big deal. I move to the right side of the bed and pull the sheet back. The right arm is even worse, covered from wrist to shoulder in plaster, with pins sticking out everywhere. Crap! That means I have to draw the blood from the femoral artery ( You can find the femoral artery by pressing in the junction where your leg attatches to your torso. Needless to say, it's location is very close to the.....well, let's call it the "daddyparts" region). I turn the sheet down quite far, only to discover a cast extending from high up on the thigh, down to below the knee. Not good. "How about that side?", I ask the therapist. She pulls the sheet down to reveal.....No cast! All right! I move over to the left side to palpate the L. femoral artery when I notice a problem. His penis. It has kinda flopped over in the area where I have to stick the needle. My next conversation went like this:   Me: Um, you're gonna have to move that YooHoo so I can stick Therapist: I'm not touching his naughtybits Me: Well I'm damn sure not touching the twig-n-berries Therapist: Sorry, I can't touch the wedding tackle. Intercom: Do you have that blood yet? Me: No, not yet....we're working on it Intercom: Hurry up, the doc needs it, and his family is waiting to see him Me: Ok, I'm working on it!   Up until now, the only penis that I've held in my hand has been mine own. And I don't wanna break that streak now. Just when all seemed lost, I spotted a solution: His Yaunker! (a Yaunker is a bedside suction devise used to remove saliva from somebody's mouth. You may have seen a similar device when you go to the dentist.) I pick up the Yaunker and use it to flop the penis out of the way.....and hope they don't stick it back in his mouth. Ok, time to draw the blood! The femoral artery is big like a garden hose. Because it is so big, it takes a lot of pressure to move the blood through. Basically, when I withdraw the needle, I have to hold some counter-pressure to the puncture site so he won't lose a lot of blood. I hand the blood sample to the therapist so she can run it through the analyzing machine. "Tell the doc we just got the blood and it'll only be a few minutes until we get the results", I tell the therapist, on her way out. So now it hits me........I'm going to be stuck pressing a big gauze sponge against this guy's crotch for the next 10 minutes. Great. How can it possibly get any better than this? I turn to face the door and see about 15 people. Mr Brown's family standing in the doorway. They are all wearing looks of shock and disgust at the sight of me with my hand dangerously close to Mr. Brown's bells (and his weenie is fully exposed where I had flicked over earlier with the Yaunker). "Uh....I, uh.....had to draw some blood.....", I said lamely. They were having none of it. With my other hand I depressed the call button. "Barbara, I'm not quite ready for family just yet", I told the clerk. A nurse came over and hustled them out. After I had held pressure and bandaged the site, I washed up (thoroughly, I can assure you) and walked out. "How come the family just looked at me like that? I told them I had to draw some blood" I asked the nurse. "How were they looking at you?", she asked, obviously amused. "Like I was holding pressure with my mouth", I said. "They don't speak any English", the nurse replied. As I walked back to the respiratory department, they were all looking at me with that same look of horror. Needless to say, I had to pass on lunch. It was hotdogs.
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MySpace blog 8.2.07

Lettuce compare bad dates ( NOT the fruit) Current mood:Sylvan Category: Blogging So, before I get started I have 2 important announcements: 1) - Our newest blog friend, Misbehaving ( I assume everybody has met MB and read his blogs? M, I'm talking to you.....don't be shy......he writes good stuff) pointed out that I've totally ignored my tradition of dedicating a blog to the newest kid on the block, so to speak. This blog is dedicated to you, MB (although the "honor" may be a little dubious). 2) - This blog has been blatantly inspired by MB's latest. Ciss kinda went into it in her comments, and I realized that the story has to be told. In all of its ugliness.   To really understand how I got into this mess, everybody needs to understand 2 things about me ( side note- Is this "2 things" a recurring theme? I don't know, my friend.....I don't know): I have trouble telling people "no", and I'm waaaaay too nice. I understand your skepticism, but it's true.   The "dog-eat-dog" atmosphere of Atlanta High School was so oppressive, that I had gained a reputation as a "really nice guy" (no better way to get laid in high school, right? yeah) by doing nothing more than NOT insulting people to their faces. Apparently I'd also, by my junior year, captured the attention of a senior lass (Her name is ****). Her father and my father were......not good friends, exactly, but......they knew each other really well. Throughout the year I had avoided going to ****'s Halloween party ( She told me "I'll be wearing a toga"), ****'s Thanksgiving party ( "We're gonna play seven minutes in Heaven"....I didn't know what that was, but I didn't like the sound of it), and ****'s Christmas & New Year's parties ( I knew all about the hazards of mistletoe and 12:00). Spring was rolling around fast, though, and so was prom season. At my house, hints were getting dropped that **** wanted to ask me to her prom. This was an actual conversation:   Dad: "I saw Jerry ***** today." Me: "Really." Dad: "He said his daughter thinks you're a fine young man, and so does he" Me: "........." Dad: "He thought you might be a good date for her prom. She's cute." Me: "Dad, she's kinda ugly" Dad: "........." (sending out silent, powerful waves of disapproval)   The very next day at school, **** cornered me and asked me to the prom. It was a little awkward, because we almost never spoke. I hemmed and hawed, but for every half-excuse I gave, she had a comeback (I cracked under pressure and couldn't think of a iron-clad excuse. Besides, I was trying to give her the opportunity to save some face, but she was having none of it). Finally, she administered the coup-de-grace: "I've already bought the tickets, and there's nobody else to go with...PLEASE?"   Prom time. Everybody parked their cars at the high school and boarded a chartered bus to go to the big city of Texarkana. The whole ride down (about 45 mins) was incredibly awkward and silent. I didn't have any friends in the SR. class of 1987, and I didn't know squat about my date. Since it was a chartered bus, the chaperones were not exactly vigilant about screening for alcohol, and everybody was drinking like a fish (except.....somebody forgot to give me the memo. And I could have used a stiff drink). All throughout the night, I fought off a tipsy, dry-humping **** who was trying to kiss my neck. At one point, my date told me "You ought to take off your shirt and just wear your jacket and bowtie".....(WTF?!?). I declined. It was a looooooooong dance. The bus ride back was even worse. It was very dark, and the slobbery sounds of kissing seemed to be preternaturally amplified. I stared straight ahead, thinking how much of a good-night kiss I'd have to pony up to avoid being talked about. At this point, **** takes my arm, puts it around her shoulder, and for good measure, down the front of her dress. So now I've got a handful of boob (Another sidebar....as a commited boob man, that part wasn't so bad. It was just a little unexpected). It was time to man up and take one for the team, so I made out with her. Just for a little while. When the bus arrived back at the high school, **** and I went to my car (unluckily, like MB, it had bench seats. Because I'm a quick, quick learner, I planted my right hand firmly on the steering wheel). **** leaned over and breathlessly wispered "I don't have to be back anytime. My parents trust you....we can do anything you want.....". What I wanted to say was "Ok, then.....we're off to find some hot chicks". Instead, what came out of my mouth was "Er.....It's already a little past my curfew.....I have to go home". I thought that would get my point across. Wrong. **** was incredibly unfazed, saying "....Well, call me tomorrow and we can do something then". Wow.......I didn't call.   Every so often for the rest of the year, My dad would ask if I'd seen **** around, or had heard from her. I would just look at him in stony silence. He got the message.   Years later, Ciss and I saw **** at the local Super Wal-Mart ( the social nexus of Cass County) going grocery shopping. **** was loading her buggy up with frozen entreees. "Hmmmmm", said Ciss, "Dinner for one, ****?" It was the best and meanest line I had heard in a long time.
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MySpace blog 6.7.07

Let's Hear it for Science!! Current mood: chipper Category: Blogging I was watching the local news the other night. It was the usual crappy local stuff....man tries to rob beauty supply store and gets a beat-down by the female employees, a local street is riddled with potholes (!), the nutty sports guy gets to ride in a "dune buggy", etc. I was mentally tuned out until one of the dynamic co-anchors mentioned a new study being conducted.   "A new study is being conducted to see if it is possible to have a 25 hour day" (obligatory chuckle from anchorman). "I guess there just isn't enough time in the day to get everything done!"   Well, that certainly got my attention. After verifying that this was a real study (it is....NASA is funding it. I read the prospectus...actually it's an interesting study. They're seeing how efficiently the human circadian rhythm can be offset....oops, I'm talking sleep nerd again, sorry....), I was a little perplexed. Now we are conducting scientific studies about cliche' proverbs?!? This isn't what I pay taxes for. I pay taxes for congressmen and senators to get free, higher quality healthcare and travel perks than I could...but, I digress..... After I heard of the "not enough hours in the day" study, I wondered what other proverbs are the subject of NASA study. Here is what I found:   There is a study being conducted in California to examine whether an apple a day really does keep the doctor away. This is true, but not for the reason you think. Turns out that all doctors are extremely afraid of apples A recent study at the University of Colorado seeks to determine if blood really is thicker than water. There were conflicting results, so I staged my own experiment. My parents brought me a sample of city tap water from Atlanta, Texas. Next I made a small incision to my forearm to obtain some blood. I then compaired the two. The Atlanta tap water was thicker than my blood, but in fairness, I had just taken an aspirin. Researchers have discovered that, contrary to popular wisdom, it is entirely safe to place all one's eggs in a single basket, as long as the number of the eggs doesn't exceed the capacity of the basket. Perhaps most interesting was the study being done at the University of Texas. This study was committed to de-bunking the myth that "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach". It was concluded that the way to a man's heart is actually through the superior and inferior Vena Cava   I suppose I should feel re-assured that the spirit of scientific experimentation lives on in America, but I'm a little disturbed about the subject matter. Instead of proving / disproving mere American proverbs, the research community should be looking at how people with different dietary needs can co-exist. Then, and only then, will the lifelong dream of Mr. Jack Spratt and his wife be truly realized.
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MySpace blog 6.18.07

This is not Lifetime! This is, like, a PARODY of Lifetime... Current mood:fallacious Category: Blogging So, I read recently that Ciss and I have a "Lifetime" -esque love story that practically yearns to be shared (Ok, let me first point out that I've actually heard this a lot. Cissy thinks this, and so do the strangers that we meet that she shares our story with (Anybody remember the couple from the Gomez concert?). Secondly, let me point out that my above use of the word "yearns" was intentionally ironic, since "yearns" is very much a Lifetime word.....not so much a Trey word. Thirdly, let me point out this may be my longest use of the parenthesis to date. I've even managed to work in the much-coveted parenthesis-within-a-parenthesis. Impressive, eh?). Well, to be fair, I used to think that too. Upon later reflection, though, I have changed my mind. "But why, Trey....why?" you ask. Good question. What follows below is a list of reasons that refute the Lifetime theory.   1) - I was never an abusive boyfriend that both scared and excited Cissy at the same time. 2) - Cissy's mother never uncovered long-buried dark secrets from my past that would come back to threaten all that I hold dear. 3) - My ex-girlfriend never plotted harm to Cissy in a passionate, yet ill-thought-out plan to win me back. 4) - That scary Wank Wank Wank violin music is not audible when I enter a room with a scowl on my face. 5) - Cissy doesn't have an identitical twin sister that she was seperated at birth from that would later come back into her life to wreak havoc. 6) - Ciss and I never teamed up to investigate the abduction of a local young lady, only to have the trail lead to a white-slavery ring that we broke up using only our bravery and wits.   Oh, sure I could on, but I think I've made my point. If anything, our romance is more akin to a Spike- style movie. "Trey....", you may be saying, "You can't spring a theory like that and have no examples to back it up". Well, actually, yes I could, but because you and I have forged a genuine emotional connection, dear reader, I WILL show how The Trey and Cissy Story could totally be made into a spike-tv movie.   1) - I have a cool catchphrase ("What's up, mothafucka?") that I like to spring when nobody expects it. 2) - Ciss is kind of like my "sidekick". We have witty banter. 3) - Although I have the physical size and martial arts prowess (Aikido, mothafuckas......see how I did that? Catchphrase, my friends, catchphrase....) to be a total badass, I am really a friendly, sensitive guy 4) - Three words: Daily car chases 5) - Cissy is one stone-cold hottie in a league waaaaay above me, yet she's clearly devoted to me, mind, body (hehheh) and soul. 6) - We are considering getting a liscense to carry a concealed handgun. Why? Because we can.   Again, I could go on and on, but I think I've proven my point. Tune in next time when I may compare my marriage to Starsky and Hutch......or maybe LaVerne and Shirley would be more applicable.........
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MySpace blog 6.13.08

My future ex wife? Category: Blogging Brandi and I have a running joke about how, later in life, I'd try to marry her (because she's hot, she can cook like crazy, and she's one of the few people I feel comfortable with). Well, as amusing as this little joke is, I was suddenly struck by the fact that it will probably never come to pass. Why? I glad you asked, dear reader. Without further ado, here are the top 10 reasons B & I would never last as a couple:   10) - Ches and Cissy will probably live to be 120, whereas I only have, like, 60-70 days until that massive coronary hits.   9) - B is not a music lover. That, my friends, is blasphemy. BTW, I don't consider Flo Rider music.   8) - "Heart O' Stone" Liles is unaffected by my romantic poetry.   7) - The time it takes to go from being amused by my weird trivia recall to being weirded out by it is approximately 14.7 hours   6) - B is a social butterfly....I'm as social as the unibomber.   5) - I don't have any qualities that B would consider attractive (ie, I'm not rich, short, dark, or gay).   4) - Although I intensely dislike Chris Simms, that whole "Chris Simms is a p*ssy" shout kinda weirds me out. This leads me directly to:   3) - B can drink me under the table   2) - She has weird cousins (totally unlike mine)   And the number one reason why Brandi and I would never last as a couple...   1) - I know sexual techniques that would blow her Lutherian mind, and might possibly cause her to be excommunicated.   So, as much as it saddens me, I have to be realistic about these things. Ladies, I'm now taking applications (yes, you're gonna need references).
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MySpace blog 5.16.07

Dante wrote an instructional manual......for me Current mood:ribald Category: Blogging So.....I know you're probably wondering what has happened to my blog page. When I view it, it seems to be all scrunched up. I don't really know what happened. I changed the text in the title box a little bit, and BAM! It is widely known that I am techno-tarded (or computarded, if you rather...), but I think that this problem is beyond that. I think it may be a divine punishment for the topic I am about to discuss......namely:     I recently crossed paths with the ugliest woman ever !!   Lest you judge me too harshly, let me 'splain. I am all too aware that very few ladies consider me handsome (At least I have you, Mom......I'm still your special, special boy, right Mom?), so if I mock somebody's appearance, it's all in good fun.....I never make fun maliciously.....so believe me when I say that I met a woman this week that was so unattractive that I found myself silently "cheering" for her. First I will describe her. Keep in mind that this is a real person that is 30-something: 1) She was very short (like Brandi short) but built kinda weird. Huge belly, smallish boobs and smallish butt. Hey, she was built kinda like a Buddha. I didn't make the connection at the time.... 2) She was extremely bald on the crown of her head, but even worse, wore her hair in a female "combover" type of style. Her bald scalp was covered with a puffy, blotchy rash. 3) She had very thick glasses (even thicker than mine, people.....That's saying something) with an odd yellowish tint to the lenses. When she removed the glasses, I noticed she had a lazy eye. 4) Her face had several (each cheek, forehead, and chin) large moles. I mean the huge witch-type moles. 3 of the 4 moles had stubble growing from them, like she had shaved them recently.   So....I was facinated with this woman. I told myself that surely she must have something going for her. During the course of my conversation (which was significant......we chatted for probably an hour or so, all totaled) I didn't see that she had much of a sense of humor, or was reasonably bright. I put her to bed and spent the rest of the night bothered that I couldn't find any beauty in her. In the morning, I went in to wake her up at the designated time. When she swung her legs off the bed, she farted. I don't mean one slipped out. This was the fart of somebody that doesn't care. It lasted probably 2 seconds (Do this for me now. Look at a clock and make a "raspberry" sound for 2 continuous seconds. Yeah. That's how it was). What did she say? "Excuse me". I'm sorry, but I'm *not* going to excuse that behavior. When I told Cissy about my experience, the first thing she said was "Well is she married?".......Is she married?!? Hello?!? No she's not married! I doubt that she's ever been to "first base".   So there it is. Yes, I'm prolly gonna burn in hell for this blog. But maybe, just maybe I can atone......I think I'm going to get her a copy of "Witty Things that Trey Said" (If you would like a copy of this book, just ask Pam) so she can impress guys with her conversational abilities. Then maybe she'll change my blog page back to normal.     PS- after I posted this blog, I found how to fix the page. See? All must be forgiven, eh?
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MySpace blog 5.10.07

I love Paris in the springtime Current mood:enthralled Category: Blogging So, I look up and it's been almost 2 weeks since I last blogged. Damn job. Actually, it's not been crushingly busy....more like steady. I can't complain. Except for the rats. What I seem to be getting lately is an influx of spam in my in-box. It's always a message like "I was bored and looking around MySpace and I saw your page", or "I'm new to MySpace and my page needs help", or "I'm moving to your town soon and don't know anybody". The rest of the message is always the same. The sendee wants me to "holla" at her through AIM or Yahoo chat. The interesting thing is, every message that I'm being sent is from a different MySpace sccount. Different display name.......but the display pic is (mostly) of the same girl. Also, at the end of the text, she (or maybe he.....see how I think outside box? That's how I roll) signs her name....Paris. That's right. She uses different accounts, but signs the same name. That's how I know it's all from the same person (told ya I was sharp....). I used to just delete these things, but just for variety, I've changed my routine. Lately I've been responding back, usually in a non sequitur fashion. Here are some of my random responses:   Day-um, that ass sure is fine, yo!   Would it be weird if I asked you to spread jelly on my calves and call me "Herman" ?   Could we get together and eat potroast sometime? I'd like to introduce you to my mom!   You've changed your look. I think the "tranny" fad is awesome. Keep up the good work, Hottie. BTW, you ARE a chick, right?   Hun, any chance I could tickle yo ass with a feather?   I'm bored too! The local train station has started running off the hobos, so the "hunting" has really dried up as of late. Boring!   I guess the whole point of this blog is this: Spammers, please reply back to those that reply to your original spam. It's that personal touch that will persuade somebody to subscribe to your webcam, holla at you, or buy those penis enlargement pills. Come to think of it, maybe I should moonlight as a spammer and put my brilliant people skills to good use.
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MySpace Blog 4.5.07

The Death/ Degradation of my childhood icons... Current mood:nostalgic Category: Blogging So, the other day I was surfing around on MySpace when I noticed an advertisement for The Transformers. Usually, I don't pay very much attention to stuff like this (sorry, Tom....), but a re-make of an early 80's cartoon about robots? I had to check this out. After watching the trailer, I was a little saddened. This new Transformers movie looks very sleek and matrix-like, but....I kinda miss the Transformers TV show. Sure, the animation was kinda cheesy, and there were a lot of plot holes (Like, why did Megatron turn......umm, excuse me.....transform into a giant gun that another robot had to fire? And why did Megatron always giggle whenever somebody pulled the "trigger"? Awkward). I hope at least that the new movie will keep the ultra-cool sound that the robots made when they were transforming (you know what I'm talking about.....that metallic wah-wah-wah-wah). Bottom line, it got me to thinking about how almost everything that I hold dear from my childhhood has been re-done/ re-made. And usually not for the better. *warning- the following observations are generational, and the younger of you may have trouble following* I used to be a huge Spiderman fan. I mean old-school Spiderman.....from the "Electric Company". Sure, I had to suffer through two hours of psychodelic hippy-type educational programming before they would show an episode of Spidey, but it was worth it. Now, the Spiderman movies have made, like, a ba-jillion (highly technical term) dollars, and the effects are good, and the plot is engaging, and blah blah blah. The old spiderman was much much better. Why? Because the dialog (which was spelled out in huge word balloons) was simple and always dealt with the moral Du Jour. Also, spidey's web was simple black netting, which was easy to reproduce for at home re-enactments. To tell the truth, Ciss and I still play Spiderman to this day.....perhaps I've said too much... Exhibit #2....One of the best cartoons of the early 80's was "He-man and the Masters of the Universe ". Ummmm, it was before mainstream America really knew what gay was, ok? Prince Adam was kind of a wimpy sort (viewers knew he was wimpy because of his high-pitched nasally voice) who, by hefting his sword into the sky and intoning "...By the Power of GraySkull...." could turn into a hugely muscled barbarian (whose name was the muy-macho sounding "HE-MAN") that wore a furry loincloth. Said barbarian would then thwart the plans of many evildoers without actually killing anybody. The unique thing about M.O.T.U. was that, while He-Man was supposed to be a secret identity, he looked exactly like Adam, only with far, far fewer clothes. The movie version (starring Dolph "Rocky 3" Lundgren) was only a pale imitation......no, less than that....it was a sick joke.....of the original. Dolph (who didn't even sport the bowl haircut from the TV show, for goodness' sake) sliced and diced his way through the entire movie. Kids, killing is morally wrong......unless the great state of Texas dictates it. But perhaps the most callous and reprehensible incident comes from the studio jerks who decided to "improve upon" my most treasured memory....namely, Dungeons and Dragons (We in the know just call it......D&D). D&D used to be an exercise for the imagination......a meditation of visualization. Many was the night that I lay awake, thinking of mysterious creatures that I knew I would never have to face in real life. Creatures like Trolls.....and girls. But in a blatant attempt to "cash-in" on the movement, somebody came up with a D&D cartoon. So horrible was this cartoon that I watched only a few episodes. I found myself shouting things at the TV. Things like: "You can't slay a beholder without the axe of Sheogarath, dumbass!" "Yeah, like a level 7 cleric could cast that spell..." "Throw the ring into the lava, Frodo!" (oh wait, wrong show)   I was getting way too angry watching this abomination, so I turned the TV off and got dressed for the senior prom. Strangely enough, I did not score. So there it is. I find myself anxiously waiting what will be remade next. Will it be that fascinating peek into urban life What's Happening? (Oh, ReRun....the way you dance...) or will be that racially sensitive melodrama Chico and the Man? We shall have to wait........and watch.......
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MySpace blog 4.3.07

Do you like the smell of Blog-pouri? Current mood:mawkish Category: Blogging So, it's become a bit of a tradition for me to write an introductory blog every time I get a new reader. Everybody, meet M-….She is a big fan of The Damnwells music, which puts her street cred as "legit. Too legit to quit". M-, this is everybody. This week's special guest lurker may very well be Mr. Dezen, who recently did me the great honor of subscribing to this blog. I must confess, though, that it makes me a little nervous knowing that somebody that has a real talent for words may be watching. Dezen, if you are reading this, please know that I tried to auction off both my pinky fingers on EBay to attend the premiere of Golden Days and subsequent concert. My wife kept nagging me to throw in a kidney. THAT's how big a fan she is. Anywho, not a whole lot has been happening lately. And I like it that way. So, there is only one thing that I can write about: My Vasectomy. After the birth of my daughter, it was decided that I'd better have a vasectomy. By that I mean that my wife decided that I'd better have a vasectomy. So, I went to see the urologist. Of course, the doc wanted Cissy to come in for the consult. After all the talking was done, the doc (who is probably a full 14 inches shorter than I am) said, "Okay, take off your drawers ('cause we are in the south, after all.) and let's take a look". Now, this brings me to the very essence of this story: What is the protocol for what to do with one's hands while getting his scrotum examined? It didn't seem like I should place them behind my back, like I was listening to a speech. It didn't seem like I should clasp them together behind my head. I damn sure couldn't put them on the doc's head. In the end, I did what I had to do. I placed my hands on my hips, arms akimbo. Awkward, yes. From my vantage point, I couldn't see the doc's face, but Cissy could. She reported that, as I lowered my undies, a look of awe crossed the doc's face. "Why…", the doc stammered, "…Why I can't ethically do any work on this perfect set of testes. I might as well deface the statue of David…". After much begging and pleading from my wife, though, the doc finally relented and agreed to the procedure. After we left the office, Cissy asked "Why did you have your hands on your hips? That looked extremely posed, and more than a little gay". Thanks for the support, Ciss…. Well, the office gave me a printed list of instructions. The night before the procedure, I could either shave the coinpurse, or they would do it for me. Being the go-getter that I am, I decided to tackle the problem head on and start a-shavin'. Unfortunately, I haven't had too much experience. I say that because when I laid back on the table, the nurse took a look and brought out the shaving kit. After calling two more nurses in for some lifting help, I was successfully shorn. After that, the actual procedure was a breeze. But…..I had to have a follow-up semen test to determine that I was, in fact, sterile. Now, for all you non-medical types, let me line it out for ya. They give you a cup with a threaded top and tell you that the sample needs to be provided in a timely manner (that means within 15 mins). Big problem….I live 45 mins away. So, either I get down to business in the car (hopefully with Cissy driving. I mean, I'm a multi-tasker, but….) or I get to get auto-amorous in the clinic bathroom (which is no big deal, except for the wonderful aroma, the potential of getting caught, and the incredibly limited space). In the end, I was able to use my local community hospital for the test, which meant I could "go to town" in the privacy of my own house, watching my collection of Golden Girls DVDs……Cissy refused to "help out". Thanks for the support, Ciss…...
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MySpace Blog 4.15.07

Damn You, Karl Marx! Current mood:disillusioned Category: Blogging So, as it often happens, my life was chugging right along, until.....my eyes were opened to a fallacy that has become ingrained in American society. Since then, I have looked at nothing in the same light. Maybe I'd better start at the beginning.... There I was, lounging on the couch (and I chose the word "lounging" because I don't think "potato-ing" is a true verb) when a commercial came on. This particular commercial involved a plain-jane woman who, whilst attempting to cross the street in a metropolitan city, breaks a heel. Obviously, this is the start of a truly bad day....the kind of day when nothing is salvagable. But Wait!! Music starts to play and a gang sweeps in and carries the woman away to various shops and remedies. That's when they cut to the tag-line "No matter what you want to do in life....Life takes Visa". What?!? Seriously?!? This realization hit me like a ton of bricks (or insert your own cliche' here). See, the thing is, I have built my life around the philosophy that money is not necessarily the most important thing. Why, wasn't it John Lennon himself that said "All you need is love"....and then quickly added "Love is all you need".... I was confused at this point. Who was telling the truth? Visa, or Lennon? Clearly, some research was in order to see who could back up their claim. First up was team Lennon, because I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. The only philosophers that even vaguely supported Lennon were Karl Marx (a classic example of a "nutjob") and Yoko Ono (a brilliant but flawed singer/artist/philosopher that once made the uber-bold decision to appear naked on an album cover.....well, kinda naked. She was nude, but wearing furry bikini bottoms, if ya know what I mean...). On the side of Visa? Classic economist Adam Smith (who, in his groundbreaking book The Wealth of Nations, described the relationship between goods and consumers) and Madison Avenue (famous for being the advertising capitial of the world. And hey.....If you can't trust them, who can you trust?). Okay....things were becoming a little more clear. Now I needed some proof. I decided an experiment was in order.... Since the most fair and unbiased experiments involve disguises, I decided to don an absurdly bushy mustache / afro wig combination. In this getup, I would attempt a purchase at the local Wal-Mart. I grabbed a pack of Ramen noodles and some lingerie and headed to the checkout counter...   Me: I would like this delicious snack, as well as this lingerie, please Cashier: Ok....(scans items).....That'll be $4.72 Me: I have a lot of love to give (moves in for the hug) Cashier: What the hell are you doing? Me: Trying to pay for my purchases...."All I need is love", right? Cashier:.........   Then, I changed into a bald wig and wax lips for the second part of the experiment (also I took off the mustache, duh). I snagged some Cookie Crisp and a bottle of Vicks Vapo-Rub and once again headed to the checkout:     Me: What a lovely day, eh? Anywho, I'll take this delectable cereal and menthol scented cure-all. Cashier: Weren't you just in here a minute ago? Me: Ahem...I haven't time for smalltalk, miss. My hungry, congested child needs me to return home with these items....if you don't mind. Cashier: Whatever. That'll be $9.36 Me: Here is my Visa Cashier: Ok, Thanks. Have a WalMart-licious day   Clearly, team Visa wins. It turns out that you really do have to have Visa (or some other tangable form of currency) to buy materials and secure services. No matter how hard country musician Alan Jackson tries to sell you his bill of goods, there is no "Living on Love"......great.......now I gotta go to plan B.....
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MySpace blog 4.13.07

Perhaps I'm "marked", or star-crossed Current mood:dichotomious Category: Blogging So, I was in a MySpace conversation the other night. It is very rare for me to have somebody to talk to, unless I have a student watching over my shoulder (verry rare indeed.....hey, SOMEBODY has to mentor young minds). I was relating to this person a strange little story that had happened when.....out of the blue it struck me.....I realized that really weird things happen to me all the time. Ok, maybe not life-changing, channeling the dead type of weird.....but "Twin Peaks" kind of weird. I decided that this week's blog would be dedicated to some strange things that have recently happened.     People engage me in strange conversations. I don't mean friends. I'm talking about nebulous acquaintances, if not full-on strangers. Last week, I was walking into work and fast approaching somebody leaving work. While this person is a familiar face to me, we barely have a "nod" relationship (you know....a slight nod as a greeting when we pass....maybe the occasional "good evening"). Out of the blue, this lady stops and says "Hey (because she doesn't know my name).....Have you ever cooked Tilapia? (As in the fish)". Well.......as a matter of fact.....actually I have. But how did she know? How did she know? So I spend the next 15 mins in the parking lot in a Forrest Gump moment (You can fry tilapia.....you can bake it.....grill it....broil it.....steam it.....carve it into sushi....make fish tacos.....etc.) discussing a flavorful fish. I did not forsee that. Here's another odd little tidbit. People often cross me in line. I don't mean that they cut in front of me. I mean that, if there is a long line stretching in one plane, and people need to cross to get to the other side of the line, then the point in which they will bisect the line will be directly in front of me. I used to be stumped by this. The odds are astronomically against ME being the cross point, but yet it happens 90% of the time. After reading the excellent Freakonomics, however, I looked at this mystery in a different light and have come up with two solutions: 1)- I am a big man, and my personal space requirements are big as well. Therefore, in any given line, I have probably more space between me and the person in front of me. That creates a more attractive crossing point. 2)- People are drawn to my raw, magnetic sexuality like Mark Foley is drawn to male congressional pages. I'm still looking into this. Strangers tend to see me in two polar ways. Either I'm a big, physically intimidating, creepy man, or I am a big goofy "softy" type. Most kids are not scared of me. On the contrary, they like to scale my mountainous belly (to be sure, this can take a couple of hours, which is a testament to its size) and climb onto my shoulders. The parents, however, are not usually so impressed. It was not so long ago that a little girl came into the sleep lab for a test. I explained to the mother that she would have to stay in the room with the girl (I know, I know....but you'd be surprised at how many parents want to drop their children off for some parental free time)and explained that after 2-3 hours of sleep, I would come back in the room and place a medical device on the girl. So, the girl goes to sleep and the time comes for me to go back into the room. As I open the door....*BANG* *CRASH*...the parent had rigged an "alarm" by putting a chair against the door, and putting the trashcan on the chair. So much for not scaring your kid, lady. Sorry that I'm such a creepy bastard that you had to barricade yourself in your hospital room. Next time I'll put my trousers back on, ok? The truth is....I'm actually a big "teddy bear" (by that I mean that I have glass eyes and often sleep with children <------Kidding! What? Too much?)
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MySpace Blog 3.27.07

So.....It's an exciting time to be a couch potato. Everybody knows that Direct TV maintains a delicate ying-yang type balance between good channels and channels that suck. Just let that sink in for a moment......think about it....for every "Home Shopping Network", there exists "E!". For every "logo" there is a "comedy central".....   As an aside (and man, didn't I use an aside in my last blog? I really need to come up with a new literary trick) let me just offer up this bit of backstory: Awhile back, MTV attempted to self-balance its terrible regular channel (why so few music videos, MTV?) with the brand new MTV2 (The hype was "all videos all the time"). Then, in an attempt to destroy the fragile Direct TV balance, some terrorist saboteur decided to change the M2 programming to include almost zero music videos! Bastards! All would have been lost if VH1 and VH1 Classic had not been there to take up the slack.....It certainly was a close call......   Now what was I saying? Oh yes, the balance. Veddy veddy important. If too many channels are boring, nobody watches TV. If too many channels are great, people drive themselves insane thinking they are missing something. Lately, things were slowly sliding towards the dull, until a new channel was introduced...Chiller (All scary programming all the time......Schwing! Tumescence!...But I digress...). But as great as Chiller is, there is new king in town.....COURT TV !!! Court TV is soooo insanely good that I call them "The Scorpians" (because they, like the band, will rock you like a hurricane...). The 2 best things that I have seen lately have been on Court TV: 1) Coverage of the impending Phil "Wall of Sound" Spector trial, and 2) The press conferance announcement of the Anna Nicole autopsy results. Let's examine...... If you haven't seen Phil Spector lately......wow.....Google his image now! He has worn some of the most spectacular wigs known to man. From the "80's perm" to "White man's afro" to "Little Lord Fauntleroy", his wigs have impressed potential jurors from coast to coast. Of course, he may need every advantage....jurors (supposedly of one's peers, mind you) were told the trial might last 4 months. Now, to be a little judgemental, anybody that has nothing better to do for 4 months than to sit on a jury panel is not really my peer... The Anna Nicole autopsy results (awesome...) were given by the official coroner......Dr. Joshua Perper. To be honest, the findings were overshadowed by one thing: Dr. Perper's massively misshapen head. I defy any reader to watch the video replay and not wonder "Whut in the hell happened to that guy's head?". Either he is on the verge of growing another head, or the crown region has been caved-in by some nameless trauma. Regardless, it was nigh impossible for me to avert my eyes from his noggin. Ok, I've rambled on for far too long......I gotta go watch some more Court TV
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MySpace Blog 3.21.07

Have I let the Genie out of the bottle? Current mood:dauphin- esque Category: Blogging Ciss and I went out this last weekend to Shreveport. Lemme tell ya, it was a good time. The food was good (On the Border....mexican hit the spot), the conversation was good, and when things get a little slow, I can always look at Brandi's boobs (she doesn't mind.....much). What else could anybody ask for in an outing? Alcohol? Why yes, there was a little alcohol involved. The thing is, I'm not very much of a drinker. I don't think I had too many. Let me reflect back:   Did I give unsolicited advice? No... Did I delve into the philosophical? No... Did I slur any words? No.... Did I hit on Brandi by feeding her cheap compliments? Maybe... Did I "weird out" Heather and Paul with one of my rants? I don't know.... Did I stop at WhattaBurger on the way out? No...   There ya go. Survey says.....Didn't overindulge! But....I'm kind of an antisocial bastard. I'm really pretty shy. Sometimes having a few beers helps me to get "in the zone" to make interacting with people (and let's face it....when ya go out drinking with Brandi and Ches, you never know who else is going to show up) a little easier. I thought I did my usual stellar job of balancing between just enough and too much......so imagine my surprise when it turns out that now Cissy is the fun drinking one of the couple! WTF ?!? Cissy? Seriously? How could I have allowed this to happen? Back early in the marriage, I was the fun drinking one of us, working the crowd and regurgitating charm all over the room.   Or was I?   After I thought about it a little, I came to an uncomfortable conclusion....I have always been the guy in the group to hold back a little.....to make sure that somebody was sober enough to ensure the safety of whomever I was responsible for. Man.....That Sucks! And it's not helping out my rep as a party dude, either. So how do I de-throne Ciss? I'm thinking that for the next outing, I have to go full-tilt. I'm gonna pound them drinks down. I plan on getting so incredibly inebriated that I will puke, take a deep breath, and call for more (Uh, I actually know a girl that did this with Strawberry Daquiris......No, that girl was not Brandi....). I will be an ass-spankin, dirty joke telling wastrel that hits on every chick that moves, bro. Now all I need is somebody to throw a party. Any volunteers?
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MySpace blog 3.11.07

Eh, A workday in the life of.... Current mood: accomplished So....because I had quite an adventure working the other night, I figured EVERYBODY needs to know. Normally, I don't have any problems with my patients. They are, for the most part, very pleasant. But over the years, I have had a handful of....Doozies. I encountered one such patient the other night. We'll call her "Ms. Black". I should have recognized it as an omen that Ms. Black showed up almost an hour late. A family member wheeled her up.......because as I was soon to discover......Ms. Black weighed close to 500 lbs. and was almost totally non weight-bearing (meaning she could not support her own weight, or stand up under her own power).     As an aside, I just have to wonder.....there has to be a way to screen "special needs" patients before they show up and I meet them cold.   Ms. Black's family member, before leaving as quickly as humanly possible, shouted over her shoulder, "By the way, she'll need a portable bedside toilet"....great.....due to circumstances I can't really divulge, a bedside potty chair was unavailable.....I don't want to bore anybody with technical procedural details, so let's just say that the patient has to sit upright for a little while as I get them ready for the test (anywhere from 45 mins to an hour, depending on the hairstyle, cleanliness, and co-operation of the patient). Ms. Black was NOT accustomed to sitting up for very long (when I inquired, she told me that reclining was her position of choice) and would, every now and again, let out a long, low moan.....as though she were being interrogated under duress. The reader can safely assume it took me quite awhile to prepare Ms. Black. Now that she was hooked up, it was time to get her all settled for bed. Because Ms. Black was a lady of substantial girth, and could support only minimal weight on her own feet (translation.....I would have to do all the work) I asked her if she needed to use the bathroom before I began the Herculean task of getting her into the bed (Ok, maybe I worded it a little more diplomatically). "Nope", she said "I'm ok for now. I didn't take my lasix tonight so I wouldn't have to pee"   Wait....Didn't take her fluid pill? WTF?!? That just means that her heart will have to work much harder, less efficiently, and eventually fluid will back up into her lungs. Hello Congestive Heart crisis!   So, after a protracted, complicated feat of miraculous proportion, I got Ms. Black into bed. I walked out of her room, and before I could take 10 steps, she hit her call button. Back in I go. "I have to go to the bathroom". Great.....It's not like I just asked ya, or anything. And it's soooooo easy for me to get you into/out of bed....no problem....In the middle of the struggle to get her out of bed, she casually says "Can you hurry? My bowels are about to move"....AWWWW, COME ON !!!! GIVE ME A FRIGGIN BREAK!!! Dear reader, because I care about your constitutuion, I will spare you the details of getting her to the bathroom (let's just say after I yanked her gown up so she could collapse on the toilet....well, I won't go there....). But I tell you that when I went back in to get her back into bed, the smell was.....not at all pleasant. In fact, it smelt as if Satan himself had farted. Back into bed Ms. Black goes. Did I mention that she was a diabetic, and had these huge, weepy non-healing ulcers all over her legs? No? Well she did. Our next conversation went a lil' something like this: HER: "My legs are starting to hurt." ME: "Ok. What do you do for that when you're at home?" HER: "I take my Lortab" ME: "Did you bring any with you?" (The day people are pretty good at explaining to patients to bring any needed meds with them) HER: "No. I'm getting low and wanted to save my pills at home" ME: "I can't give you anything like that, Ms. Black" HER: (in a very sarcastic tone) "I thought I was in a hospital" ME: (showing god-like restraint to avoid punching her in the face) "Well, yes....But this is the sleep lab. We can only give sleep meds" HER: "With what they charge, you'd think I could get whatever I needed" ME: (silently thinking "Yup, Medicaid sure covers everything")   Skip ahead a little in time. Ms. Black has fallen asleep, and has terrible Obstructive Sleep Apnea. Terrible. Knowing in my heart how this will turn out, I decide to try and put the CPAP mask on her, because she is my patient no matter how big a PITA she is, and this is an intervention that could literally save her life. Well....it was a semi-success.....After numerous adjustments and re-assurances, Ms. Black was able to fall asleep while wearing the mask. If I didn't get her fixed, then she's at least very close. She probably slept for 2-3 hours wearing the mask.....then she woke up and refused to wear it any more. Oh well.....that's her choice..... So that was but one night in the life of the lowely sleep therapist. It was, however, in its own way, one of the more memorable nights.
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MySpace blog 2.9.07

Red is traditionally the color of love....also the color of satan Current mood:smitten Category: Blogging So...It's almost St. Valentine's day. For the most part, I dislike this holiday. The hype has become an unmanageable monster (for proof, I offer The Vermont Teddy Bear commercial....that commercial is creepy on many, many levels. Next time you see me in person I'll tell ya all about it). Now, I like to think that Ciss knows how much I love her.....(Not that I believe in soul-mates. Let's face it....B and I are 2 beers away from "doin' it" at any given moment. It's just that sexuality oozes from me like sap out of a maple tree. And like that tree, I have a tube sticking out of my chest from which a small wooden bucket hangs. Supplicants come from near and far, just to dip their unworthy fingers in the bucket and dab some of my sexual power behind their ears.....Um, where the hell was I going with all this? Oh, right...) and I think that if I have to get some cheesy something to impress her on a "special day", then I'm not doing my job very well. Of course, it could just be that I'm a cheap, curmudgeonly bastard.   Or it could be something else entirely.     Do y'all give any credence to the theory that past stresses can psychologically cripple a person in some areas? When I was much much younger (around 3rd grade or so) I used to love the school Valentine party. Sugary goodies (yes, I was a portly child) everywhere, culminating with the exchange of cheap V-day cards and message hearts. How painstakingly I used to scrutinize the wording of each card and heart......I didn't want to send the wrong message, you know....but the cards and hearts I always recieved were....a little strange. Like, I recieved a beautiful Scooby-Doo themed card once from my crush du jour. But on the inside it said "You'll never find love. Just like Velma"....weird, right? And sometimes I'd get candy hearts that had, imprinted on them, little phrases like "Eat all you want, fatty....but you can't fill the void with food". Huh? Later on, I found out that those gifts were from my teacher. She recognized potential when she saw it...   Flash forward to high school. One year, for a fund-raiser, the student council sold paper hearts that you could get delivered to your valentine while they were in class. The then-school secretary announced the big event over the P.A. and urged us to part with a dollar so we could "walk around with a big heart on". Yup, she actually said it....One year, for a fund-raiser, the student council sold computer dating slips that you could fill out and get results of who was most compatable for you. One of my top choices was Cissy (almost 100% compatability, as I remember).....but when I asked her to the Jr/Sr Banquet, I was blown off (.....um, not like that....I meant that Ciss turned me down...seems she'd rather go with her bitter chubby Mormon friend.....kiss my ass, compu-match!) So, apparently, I have quite a history with Feb. 14th. In an effort to break the curse, this year I have a very romantic gift for Ciss. I don't want to spoil the surprise, but I will divulge this: A Donkey Punch will be involved.   PS- B, Ches has something very similar planned for you. Something about "Cleveland", maybe?!? So, happy V-day to all of you. May you each recieve your well-deserved Valentine's gift (Even if it's one of those creepy Vermont Teddies....)
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MySpace blog 2.1.07

Sorry, this blog will prolly suck.... Current mood:hidebound Category: Blogging Why? Because I'm getting sick. Yes, I can feel, as I type this, my temperature slowly starting to rise (not in a metaphorical sense, either). Pre-driving to work, as I'm helping prepare dinner, I kinda have a coughing fit. "Oh no", says Cissy "You're getting sick!". "Nonsense", I firmly exclaim, "This is only sinus drainage". Well......fast forward roughly 6-7 hrs, and I'm hooking up my patient (a kid, but more on this later on).....I start to get the tell-tale feeling of an impending illness. Well, great...apparently, my wife has a spooky Nostrodomus-like gift for seeing the future. Next time, hon, could you use your powers for something a little more useful? Like foretelling the lottery numbers, or whether that hooker will press charges? Usually, I'm not so bitter about getting sick, but I thought I was gonna get to come home early from work. I mean, it was snowing and sleeting pretty hard in Douglassville and the ENTIRE drive to Texarkana. My patient (an older pre-adolescent of the age that Cissy may very well teach) and his mother were from a small town in Arkansas. Arkansas had supposedly been getting more precipitation than even Texarkana. Thus, by the associative property of geometry.....They'll surely re-schedule! I'll get to leave early! Um.....not so much....The snow was so bad in Arkansas that they left EARLY to get here. Nice.....Anywho, the kid is really nice. But he suffers from what I like to call "O.F.I.".......For you uninformed, that stands for "Overly Feminine Influence"...That is to say his parents are divorced and apparently doesn't spend much time with his dad. Just the mom. Here's how I know: On his first visit, this kid left his personal-blanket-afgan-shaw type thingy here at the lab. Well, cause I have a sainted heart o' gold, I placed it in a bag and held it for him in case he returned (yes, buttholes, I DID try to call them). On this visit, when I presented him with the blanket (which is known as "boogie-boo", or something...) his mom said excitedly "Oh! You'd better hug his neck!".... And the kid started to lean in for it !!!!   She quickly rectified her faux-pas with..."You'd better shake his hand!" (which I did). Look, I know it was a heartfelt, sweet moment. But think of this poor poor kid. He's got to learn how to handle these social situations in a masculine way. This boy is on the fast-track to sitting on the toilet when he has to pee! And if things get to that point, then the only further instructions to give would be: "son, when you sit down to pee at school, be sure and brace yourself, because an ass-beating of epic proportion is certain to follow"   Ok, As I look back on this blog, this was not even what I wanted to write about. I was gonna tell an amusing little story about working in a local community hospital located in Cass County....Oh well.....maybe it's the fever talking...
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MySpace blog 12.19.06

She's gynecologi-riffic ! Current mood:steely Category: Blogging In all of history, there are certain events that are so important, so vital to world culture that they are universally celebrated. I'm speaking of things that have the power to change the course of history, such as the creation of the Magna Carta, the re-unification of Germany, and of course, the unveiling of Britany Spears' labia. Of the 3, by far the more revelant topic has to be the showing of the hoo-hoo. Now don't get me wrong.....I love most vaginas....I just don't want to see the ugly ones. Britany Spears was an underage sexual icon throughout most of the 90's, and the Earth-shaking revelation that her downstairs is akin to a Salvadore Dali painting (you know the one...that one with the droopy clocks hanging over the tree branches).....well....that just sucks all the joy out of being a man. Because I tend to be benevolent, I have decided to write an open letter to Ms. Spears' privates:   Dear Twatty, Ever since I saw you on the internet, my life has not been the same. And I don't mean that in a good way, either. The truth is, the sight of you glaring out so bare is a little disturbing. So what's the deal? Did Brit have a really bad bicycle accident? Was she in a fire that resulted in a vaginal skin graft? And don't give me the old stanby arguement that she just had two children.....We both know that those kids were delivered via C-section ( I know because I'm all stalker-y like that. And also because the scar was showing). Whatever the reason, let me offer a few suggestions: 1) - The bare look is not a good look for you. In fact, you may want to grow out the pubic hair as long as possible, and then attempt a combover to cover up a lil' bit (Hey, whatever.....it works for Donald Trump). If , like myself, you have trouble cultivating a proper pubic thatch, then I would suggest looking into buying a merkin. 2) - Do not underestimate the importance of a good distraction. Perhaps if you affixed a pair of "truck nuts" to your mommy parts, it would draw the eye away from your chaotic goodies ( "Chaotic".....get it? Here I'm attempting to link the name of her reality show to a disparaging adjective. Pretty funny huh? No? Oh, never mind....). 3) - Maybe start hanging around with chicks that have even uglier "down below's" than you, thereby making yours look better by comparison. You could befriend Lohan and Paris Hilton and....what's that? Ok, nevermind. The path you take, Beev, is not as important as the act of taking action. Just recently, I had to caution my teen son not to look at your pictures, lest he be scared of all women. respectfully, Trey     As a postscript, lest I be viewed as misogynistic, I have decided to offer my female friends a service. If you are concerned that your clamster may not be lookin' so sharp, I will gladly inspect. Just call me, set up an appointment, and place your feet in the stirups. I'll even numb it for you, if you want.........
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MySpace blog 12.15.06

piss-poor state of the union Current mood:twaddle-prone Category: Blogging So.....the weather has turned a little cooler, Halloween and Thanksgiving have gone tits up, and my hospital has started playing festive music continually (but softly) over the PA. Each event is pretty innocuous by itself, but add them up and what do you get? The nearing of Christmas! And nothing says "Happy birthday, Lord Jesus" like another Rocky movie coming down the pike. In order to promote his new movie, Sly Stallone has been making the late-night talk shows. This brings me to my main point, namely, What in the name of organized fisticuffs has happened to Sylvester Stallone?!? I happened to look up at the TV and......wow. If you haven't seen him lately, apparently he's had a bit o' plastic surgery. And when I say a little bit, I mean an assload. His eyebrows are fixed in this weird double arch pattern, and it makes him look surprised all the time. Also, his eyes are looking a little asian (not that there's anything wrong with a little asian. In fact, I've hired one to ride on the back of my Newfie, but I digress.....) from the extreme and unnatural tautness of his facial skin. Don't feel too bad though for Sly, though. He's still pretty ripped. He looks like a boxer. I look like a Buddha who's put a moratorium on the whole "cessation of desire" thing and has decided to eat buffet. I guess if there's a lesson to be learned in all of this it would be 1) Don't mock my American Indian heritage, or I will put a curse on you, and 2) We are all going to grow old together, friends (Um, I hope we are, anyways.....the alternative to that is pretty grim, eh?) so let's just accept the inevitable with some dignity, ok?   I'll get the ball rolling.......right after I have my mid-life crisis.
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MySpace blog 11.4.07

Friends (I’ll be there for you)....... Current mood:nostalgic Category: Blogging Halloween Weekend was a blast. Ciss and I got invited / crashed a great party (thanks, Lancey). It was mostly a costume party, and most guests dressed up to some extent (On a side note, I have to confess I LOVE dressing up on Halloween......and anybody else that can un-selfconciously wear a costume has earned a little of my respect). Lancey and Shelley's house is beautiful, the party was not a huge event, and nobody (that I could tell) over-indulged on alcohol. Imagine, then, my surprise when I asked where the bathroom was.   "Oh, you don't wanna go in there", Aaron said. "Why not", I inquired. "Because somebody pee'd all over the floor. Really hosed the whole place down" "?!?"   The "Mysterious Pisser" did such a thorough job of wetting the place down that somebody had to actually get A MOP and clean. It was reminiscent of a truck stop bathroom in hill country. I suspect whoever it was was doing his impression of "Man drinking from a water fountain", or "Lawn sprinkler". So far, the identity of the pisser remains shrouded in mystery. This anecdote reminded me of another little gem of a story.....one that has to be told.   Jimmy S. was (technically still is) a guy 2 yrs older than me. We went to school together, and to the same church (his dad is the pastor), and although I knew who he was, we never really hung out in the same circles (in small town Atlanta, Texas, this means that we had different drinking buddies). Until B. developed a crush on Jimmy. See, whenever B came in to see Cissy, she was by default in our drinking group. And B wanted to meet Jimmy, so we usually had to tailor our plans in some incredibly complex Rube Goldberg-ian fashion just so B and Jimmy could cross paths (to which she would act all surprised and say "oh hey, what are YOU doing here"). Whatever. We all went along because we were tired of B's current boyfriend, a nancyboy supreme. The point is, we got to know Jimmy. And to know Jimmy is to like Jimmy. He was very easygoing, loved to drink beer, and had access to a skiboat!!! Jimmy eventually becomes a drinking buddy, even outlasting he and B's relationship.   The introductory pisser story reminded me of something Jimmy once told me. It seems that he had some anxiety about urinating in somebody else's bathroom, due to the "splashing noise". If the room was unusually quiet, he would actually get on his knees and relieve himself, to try and cut down on the noise. Oddly enough, he had never shared this secret with B.   Which kind of opens the floodgates for "Jimmy Stories". There is a city about an hour away that decorates the whole downtown area for Christmas with millions of Christmas lights. Jimmy once told Cissy's parents that they should go see the lights. "It's better if ya wait until dark, though", he advised them, dead serious.   Once Jimmy told me that he and anoher friend were driving around on the backroads drinking beer when they came upon what they thought was a horrific wreck. Police sirens and wet, red meat on the road almost made him throw up......until his friend told him it was just an overturned watermelon truck.   The piece de la resistance, however, is when Jimmy and I were working one summer for the Tx State Hwy Dept. We had to get serious physicals. The kind where ya have to "turn your head and cough", if you know what I mean. When Jimmy went in to do his physical, the Doctor told him to "Drop your pants to your knees", and turned around to scribble some notes on the chart. When the doc turned back around, Jimmy was on his knees, pants bunched around his ankles. "Son, what the hell are you doing down there?" the doc demanded. Jimmy answered "I thought you said 'Drop your pants and to your knees'......" Keep in mind that nobody would ever have known this story if he hadn't told it on himself. Dude had a sense of humor, that's for sure.   Then there was the time that my ex-girlfriend gave him a handjob. Funny stuff, but that's a whole other blog.   By and large, Jimmy is a great guy (even if he wasn't exactly the brightest back in the old days, he sure was a lot of fun). He's married now and has a family. I think he's doing pretty good, except for a freakish mild heart attack that he suffered a few years back. I hope he kicks ass. He was, and still is a very good friend, even if I haven't seen him in years, and I wish him happiness. He did have to put up with B for awhile, after all.....heehee.....
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MySpace blog 11.20.06

Quality Assurance can lead to Romance! Current mood:kinda glum..... Category: Blogging So.....I haven't blogged in awhile. To be perfectly honest, I've had some personal issues......setbacks, really.....that have left me kind of depressed. No, no.....don't cry for me, Argentina. Supreme Pizza and Family Guy have proven to be very effective balms. So, as I sit here at work scratching my beard (3+ weeks without shaving! I look like a more manly version of Grizzly Adams!) it occurs to me that I do, in fact, have a story to share. And with that shitty segway, here it is:   Not so long ago, the powers that be in the sleep lab (that's me and my supervisor) decided to implement a patient satisfaction survey in our patients' morning discharge paperwork ( the story behind our decision is a doozy, but kinda lenghty....). Anywho, flash forward to last week. I'm reading the patient responses.....and I'm stunned to read the following:   Tracy is very nice, and cute! and a little farther down the page:   Tracy is a very funny man!   Yes, the exclamation mark dots were in the shape of little hearts. But here's where the plot thickens....The note could have been written by any of my last 3 patients. Could the author be the aging (she was 30, but looked like she was 50), rough-living former stripper with the fan-freaking-tastic boob job? Or could it have been the spicy Latina attorney (here for the preliminary work-up for the lap-band surgery) with a mustache and arms that I could comb? Or perhaps it was my third patient......the guy who had just recently been released from prison! In all likelyhood, I will probably never solve this particular mystery. And I'm not sure that I want to.
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MySpace blog 11.13.07

The biggest jackass @ Wadley Current mood:sleepy Category: Blogging Ok, its getting late (for me), but new blogs from Mel and McGrog have inspired me to set up a little "one-hitter" of a blog. Let me start off by saying that the events of the following blog are 100% true. Also, it helps to know that my contact lenses (from whatever freakish eye anomaly I possess) start to get majorly dry and "cataract-y" in my eyes after 12-13 hrs. This happened 2 weeks ago.   So.....There's this lady that I used to work with at Wadley. She still works day shift, and so most mornings we pass each other (she arriving, me departing, from work) and gab for a bit. Long ago, she was my supervisor, so she knows what an idiot I can be (an aside- I was newly hired at Wadley and prone to playing around trying to make everybody laugh. After a particularly spirited bit of photoshopping, this lady called my house and said "Trey, do you know anything about pictures floating around of Floyd in a huge afro?" Like I said, she knows me). It had come to my attention that she was coming in for a sleep study, and we had been discussing the finer details of what she needed to do.   Ok, so Im walking out of Wadley Thursday morning (to come back in Thursday evening) when, through a particularly dense fog, I saw my buddy approaching. Here is our conversation:   Me: How's it going? Her: Ok, I guess Me: You still coming to see me tonight? Her: Well......I don't know (this said with a little groan, like she was ill or something) Me: Is everything ok? Her: I guess so   While we were talking, we were moving closer to each other. Imagine my horror when, you guessed it, it turned out to not be my buddy, but a total and complete stranger. I've learned from repeated painful embarrassing experiences that it's better to own up right away.   Me: Oh...my.....God.....I thought you were somebody else. Her:.............. Me: You look just like somebody I know, and I mistook you for her Her: (laughing) Oh, ok. I was wondering.... Me: You look so much alike, y'all could be sisters (sensing I was making things even more awkward, I decided to shut the hell up and keep walking) Her: Well, I might be seeing you, I guess. I'm about to check in Me: No Ma'am. Not me (wondering if, like in the cartoons, my head had really morphed into a giant donkey head, or if it was only my imagination)   I can only imagine her calling security STAT once she got inside the safety of the sliding glass emergency room doors. Did I mention that I wasn't wearing any pants? Ok, just kidding about that part.....but that's the only way it could have gotten any more creepy for this poor lady.   Yeah, I'm a jackass
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MySpace blog 10.19.07

tagged to post 10 random things about me Current mood:off work and feelin’ fine Category: Blogging Ok, so aside from hunting down and killing the occasional hobo, my life is pretty much an open book. Meaning, if you spend much time with me, you probably know these things already, but here goes:   10) - I have a strange affinity for Techno music 9) - I have been sexually harassed at work. Yes, by a woman. A large woman. 8) - I have had a hooker ride in the cab of my truck. Yes, a woman. A large woman. Anybody else seeing a pattern here? 7) - I hate being the boss. For a little while, I was in charge of 5 other respiratory therapists. Hated it. That's kinda how I got into sleep. 6) - I harbor a secret thought that I'd be a good improv comedian. I'd suck at stand-up, though. 5) - I'm an avid reader. I will literally read ANYTHING 4) - The true test of how well somebody knows me is whether they think I'm introverted or extroverted. Whadda ya think? 3) - For me, the highest pinnacle of humor in a visual medium involves a dummy (I mean a manikin, not a stupid person) 2) - I love love love scary movies 1) - I'm a boob man......So quit trying to impress me with the ass, ladies.
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MySpace blog 10.17.07

Sometimes Validation Sneaks up on Ya Current mood:grab-ass-y Category: Blogging Wow. Now that I look back, it's been about 6 weeks since my last blog. Damn you, Information Techs (sorry MB) and administrators, for blocking access to my beloved MySpace at work. Because I'm not generally a fan of lengthy exposition (if a movie has to result to exposition to explain the plot, you are sooooooooo screwed. "Star Wars" is the only exception to the rule), I'll just briefly explain that I was unexpectedly given a night off last night. Hence this blog. Last WeekEnd, we packed up the kids and went to "Six Flags" (which shall henceforth be notated as "6F") with my sister and her 2 boys. We do this in October because:   1) - The temperature in October is much more conducive to 6F than any of the summer months. It's the difference between mildly over-warm @ the peak of the day, and sitting nude on the floor in Hell's boiler-room. 2) - It's usually less crowded than in the summer. Although Cissy & Ryan had a 1.25 Hour wait to ride "The Titan", all the other rides were boarded in less than 45 minutes (.75 Hour, if you prefer to be dazzled by my math). 3) - Because it's Ivey's birthday month, we consider this excursion his birthday party. At least I don't have to go to Chuck E. Cheese, or take a bunch of stranger's kids to a movie and pretend to like them, or anything of that nature. 4) - In October, 6F does the park up in Halloween themes. And I do so love Halloween.   Since 6F does a Halloween theme, one of the first things Phoebe (my little, and younger, sister) and I do is to purchase passes to the 4 separate "haunted houses". They were generally pretty good.......Lots of spooky props and lighting, atmospherically creepy. The only complaint I had was with the "actors" that staffed the haunted houses. They were mostly high-school drama students (although the dude that portrayed Leatherface [ from the "Texas Chainsaw Massacre"] had to be pushing 6'8") that moved a little awkwardly and over-acted quite a bit (pssssst.....teen aged "Blacula"......here's a little hint. I can see right off the bat that you're wearing spooky contact lenses and fangs. No need really to open your eyes as wide as possible [achieving that Graves' disease look] or keep your lips pulled back in a grimace. Sometimes subtle is spookier). And, as a quick aside, I should know about the acting. In high school I was the darling of the one-act play scene. My drama teacher often told me that with hard work and lots of practice, I could achieve the emotional range of William Shatner.   One thing that is a little weird about 6F is the dichotomy of age. Most of the people there were clearly either parents, or teenagers. The teenagers run about engaging in grab-assery that was unheard of in my day (although, to be fair, the grab-assery of 6F is NOTHING compared to the handsy foreplay that kids do at Wet-n-Wild. That's a whole other blog, though). Phoebe and I saw a couple in the pavillion grossly making out. They were so awkward and stiff (no pun intended, heehee) that it was clear that they had met at 6F. It was like thumb wrestling, but with tongues. Cissy and Ryan also observed some high teen melodrama whilst in line for the Titan.   By far and away, the best part of 6F (except for maybe the $10.00 sodas, or $20.00 hamburger baskets) was the people watching. It was like tripping on acid while visiting a steroid-pumped county fair. One of my new favorite games to play was "Spot the European on Vacation". Gee, how about the guy with the 80's haircut and weird foreign jeans? Yup. What about the woman in stirrup pants and a Mickey Mouse T-shirt? Right again. How 'bout the man in a wearing a fannypack and dark socks with his white sneakers? Hmmmmm.......I don't know......let's eavesdrop for foreign language.....yes! 3-for-3!!   I was engaged in an intense bout of people watching when Phoebe casually told me that Mike (her husband) always says that 6F makes him feel way "above average" in every way. You know what? It's true. So what if I'm fat......there's 10 guys over there waaaaaaaay fatter. My hair is curled into a Jewfro? Look over there. Think I'm a creepy bastard? Check out the mutant ManChild to my left. The only danger is looking TOO closely and seeing somebody validating themselves while looking at ME...... All in all it was a good trip (I cannot over-recommend the benefits of valet parking. Yes, I know I usually loathe valet. This is an exception to the rule). Except that Phoebe didn't get any funnel cake. Again. There's always next year, Phoebe.
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