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First LB blog

I'm officially on the short-time countdown 'till I get banded. 3 days. Until then, I'm on the pre-op diet, and it's been difficult. I had underestimated the social role that eating played for me, until I could not eat. I find that I miss it. I mean, REALLY miss it. I think things will be better once I do get banded and can eventually eat solid foods. At least then I'll be able to accompany friends and family out to eat / talk (even if I do all the talking and they do all the eating) and not be so alienated.   Until now, my relationship with food has been love/ hate. Perhaps this procedure will remove some of the dysfunction out of my eating. I'm determined to do this thing the right way, and eat healthy once I get banded. My plan is for me to take care of the eating healthy part, and for the band to take care of the portion control part.   So, I think that's enough rambling for now. I actually just now stumbled onto the blogging capablities of this website, and thought I'd test it out. Will there be more blogs? We shall see.
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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 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 3.27.07

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 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 4.15.07

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 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 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 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 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 03.06.08

Tragedy! Even beyond what the Bee-Gees sing about! Current mood:despairing Category: Blogging My friends, it is with a very heavy heart that I bring you some sad news: Gary Gygax is dead. He passed into the realm of the storm giants on March 4th. No confirmation on the rumor that he was buried in a cloak of invisibility +4. To be honest, experts aren't sure how, exactly, Gary's passing might affect the economy. It is likely that the majority of Americans will take off work Friday (which will henceforth be known as Gyday) to mourn by being celibate and rolling 20-sided dice.   On a personal note, let me subtly understate Gary's impact on my young life by declaring him the greatest American that ever lived. Cissy cruelly said that he didn't die; He only "leveled up". Cissy also laughed and did a little dance when Ronald Reagan died.   My association with Gary Gygax's product, Dungeons and Dragons, began when I was around 10 or 11 years old. I was living in Benton, Arkansas (right outside of Little Rock). Some of the more popular kids in the Salem Elementary school played and invited me to join the group. My parents were good enough to procure me a rulebook (it's called "The Dungeonmaster's Guide, for those who want to improve themselves). Thusly armed, I dove right into the game. We would get together on the weekends and play a little D&D (that's cool-speak for "dungeons and dragons", for those of you not hip enough to know). We had a pretty good run for a couple of years, until my dad broke the news that we would be moving to Atlanta, Texas. I'm pretty sure the guys were heartbroken at the prospect of losing the best player ever. Of course, nobody ever said anything to that effect, but I'm pretty sure they were thinking it.......I could tell by that apathetic look in their eyes.   I'm pretty sure my parents weren't all that jazzed about the game. Once, they made a big point of watching a TV movie with me that depicted a group of college kids involved in a fantasy game. Only one of the kids was SO into the game that he had trouble distinguishing fantasy from reality, and began killing people......thinking they were mythical creatures (The name of that TV movie? "Mazes and Monsters", starring a young Tommy Hanks). Peppered throughout the movie were parental comments like:   "Wow, imagine that. He couldn't tell what was real anymore..."(forced, awkward laugh) "Guess that's what happens when you play TOO much" "Can't give your imagination free reign all the time" "If it could happen to a college kid, watch out it doesn't happen to you"   I'm fairly sure that not being able to tell reality from fantasy is called schizophrenia. And I'm also fairly sure that you cant catch the schizophrenia from pretending once in a while. But I didn't know that back then. Also, I though too much masturbation might gradually weaken my eyes, rendering me sightless (but that's fodder for another blog).   Imagine my surprise when, upon moving to Atlanta, I found a group of kids that played D&D. Then imagine my surprise when I found out that the kids in Atlanta that played D&D were the social outcasts. In Atlanta, Texas, one could EITHER play football and be cool, OR play D&D and be in the band (um, no offense band guys that are reading this). I was forced to make my choice......and I made it. From then on out, I was a closeted D&D fan.   The only mis-step that Gary Gygax made was the adaption of his game into a Saturday morning cartoon. I've mentioned in past blogs my disdain for the cartoon "Dungeons and Dragons". When I looked up the cartoon on IMDB (because I'm a nerd like that......guess you can take the boy out of D&D, but......well, you know) I found out that the two main characters were voiced by Willie Aames, and Donny Most (better known as Ralph "the mouth" from Happy Days). Are you now beginning to see the foulness of this cartoon?   Ah well......as with most people, the good things that Gary Gygax did made up for the mistakes. I'm sad to see Gary go. Mostly because I need a rule clarification on how to advance my lawful-neutral thief/assassin.     And if the above weren't depressing enough, I found out that Patrick Swayze has pancreatic cancer. That sucks. I guess my longtime dream of seeing "Roadhouse 2" isn't going to be happening anytime soon.
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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 08.22.08

Be still my heart....uh, not literally Current mood:febrile Category: Blogging Welp, here it is at the very end of August. I have been very busy lately, which cuts down on my blogging time. After receiving many, many heartbreaking letters begging me to write more "zany articles of rib-tickling delight", I have a new goal....to blog at least once a month. Cissy would probably appreciate it more if my new goal was to double my income...but i am a man of my word, so 1 blog / month it is.     After vacationing in Florida earlier this month, I am reluctantly recanting my previous blog. You see, i have decided again that (should the circumstances align just right) Brandi will indeed be my next wife. What follows is a list of the reasons why:   10) - Awesome rack. Oh, I forgot...she likes me to call them "titties" 9) - She makes purty kids 8) - Has a no-nonsense approach to teaching her kids the correct anatomical names for parts of the body, like "Yum-yums", "Tooterbug", and "Penis" 7) - B makes a baked penne dish that will make you murder several people in an attempt to incite a race war. At least, that's how Chuck Manson described it... 6) - She can play foozball like a savant 5) - Has a decent shot at becoming a poker professional. I bet you expected me to make a cheap pun using the word "poker", didn't you? Well I'm a master of the unexpected, baby! 4) - Not afraid to get burned by a stoogie. I can't say any more about that 3) - She knows she can't *CHANGE ME* 2) - Shes ready to turn in by 9:00 PM, leaving me plenty of time to fight crime as a costumed superhero 1) One word: Beva (all I'm gonna say is that it's NOT what you're thinking, ya sickos!)  
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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 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 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 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 1.17.07

Weird recurring dream Current mood:lil' creeped out Category: Blogging Whilst trying to avoid any semblence of work, I was recently flipping through the late-night television channels. So, what did I stumble across? A classic Sly Stallone movie (Cobra...it really reinforces what a freak Stallone has become since his plastic surgery...for more on that, please see my earlier blog), infomercials galore (most, it would seem, deal with the lack of quality sleep, although the Girls Gone Wild videos take a strong second place), and a trailer for the movie "300". Noticably absent was the usual Action Central Cabaret commercials (but, I digress....). But this movie 300 looks to be pretty weird. From what I could piece together, it is a re-telling of the battle between the Spartans (not of NCAA fame) and the Persians. Interestingly enough, I remember a college teacher telling the class that the 300 Spartans in this elite unit were all gay. Seriously. I know Cissy will not take my word for any of this until Brandi verifies it (just like I've never cooked gumbo before. But again, I digress.....) even though this is EXACTLY the kind of trivial tidbit that I'm famous for remembering. So, all of that really has nothing to do with the subject of my blog, which is.....     Lately, I've been having this weird recurring dream!     The details vary slightly, but the constant theme deals with a haunted house. The house is always a large white woodframe, 3 or 4 stories tall, deserted, and in varying stages of ruin (sometimes almost wrecked to the point of condemnation, sometimes only peeling paint and saggy roof). In the dream, for whatever reason, I'm always having to enter the house. Something horrible has happened inside the house, and I always pick up the vibes from that. Strangely, I never actually see anything......only the feeling that I get from being in there is intense.....and bad. I've had this dream enough to wonder if I will have to actually enter this house in real life. Usually I can easily dismiss dreams as the firing of random neurons in a chemical bath......but now I'm not so sure. So.....anybody wanna play Freud and interpret this dream for me?
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MySpace blog 1.18.07

How I met a real live whore!! Current mood:I think I threw up a little bit in my mouth Category: Blogging So, I was at work esta noche, and my scheduled patient did not show up. As it just so happens, there was a previous study to score (a real monster...8.1 hrs of recorded time). I decided to take a break around 10PM and go to Burger King (take that, diet). I placed my order, pulled around to the window, and paid the cashier. At this point, there was a knock on my passenger side window. It was obviously a homeless woman. "Sir", she rasped, "Can you please give me a lift to the shelter?". I looked at the BK cashier, she looked at me, and we both kinda shrugged like WTF. Please keep in mind that it was around 35 degrees outside. Long story short, I felt bad enough to give this chick a lift (generosity has always been my weakness....too much love for humanity, doncha know). As we near the shelter, she (inevitably) asks for 10$, and I tell her sorry, but all I can give her is the ride to the shelter. "I'll give you a blowjob", she said. Man....did I mention that she looked around 75 and stank really bad? This encounter really floored me, and left me incredibly depressed at the plight of some people.....so as her head was a-bobbin, I reflected that (unlike her) I was really, really lucky. Howso? When I checked my e-mail today I saw that I had apparently won not just one, but 4 different foreign lotteries (suck it, Texas lotto!)....and had 2 different business proposals (with minimum monetary investment).....and also discovered that a long-lost distant family member died, and I could claim the estate (as long as I prepay the taxes, a small amount compared to the 2.4 million euros I stand to inherit). So, yeah....I'm one lucky bastard.....How many other dudes get the chance to get cheap head from a member of the homeless while eating BK (Actually, I guesss that means that we were both munching on a whopper, eh?)   Ya-da-dant da-da Dant !
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MySpace blog 1.19.07

I can dance if I want to....I can leave my friends behind... Current mood:ruminative Category: Blogging Well, I guess it's pretty evident that I'm starting to get a little bored at work. And when I get bored, I tend to blog. Cissy told me last night that I had to friend Heather so she could read my blogs. It's always a little un-nerving for me to let somebody "new" in to read what I write.....not because I always bare my soul in an embarrasing, man-weepy sort-of-way, but because I am acutely aware that some think I'm a lil' strange (Ciss and Brandi don't count). It has become a sort of tradition for me to dedicate a blog to the newest friend who might read my blogs (anybody remember Cyndi D.....anyone? Oh, right.....she's still kinda with us). So, with that in mind, I thought I would try a pre-emptive strike and just come clean with the main reasons of what makes me one weird dude....and these are not in order of importance.....     1) - I tend to make up weird little songs in the car for the enjoyment of my passengers. The last one was, I think, a little ditty called "Who put the I in illegitimate"...uh, you would have had to be there.... 2) - I am an obsessive, voracious reader. I will read ANYTHING. That's the reason I subscribe to Playboy......and Sexy Grannies... 3) - It is a running joke that I think my life may be being secretly filmed for an underground reality - TV show. But I'm not paranoid, or anything.....ok it's time for my psycho-genic meds...... 4) - I prefer my microwave-popped popcorn to be just a little burned 5) - When I halfway joke about me being psychic, I'm only halfway joking....there have been some strange incidents...Now if only I could come up with those damned Texas lotto numbers.... 6) - When I start drinking (seriously drinking....I haven't cut loose in a long time) I will gladly hear your life story.....but I will quite probably offer some drunken advice/ philosophy. And I can't guarantee that it will be good advice (just ask Brandi). I think the last one was something like "Man, screw Google stock.....invest in edible paper.....that's where the money is!" On a side note, when I'm REALLY, REALLY drunk, I turn into a pizza connoisseur. 7) - Although it pains me to admit this, I kinda have a fingernail thing. I can't stand for my fingernails to be very long, so I keep them clipped short. Very short. But I think I developed this thing after working at the hospital, so doesn't that make it a little more understandable? Yeah, I thought so.... 8) - I really have no problem with uncomfortable silence. If somebody, say, at work, asks me an overly personal question, I have been known to not say anything at all. I'll just keep the eye contact, fold my hands, and...not say anything until the moment is soooooo tense that the other person gives up and leaves. On another side note, Cissy will tell anybody anything. This is especially true when alcohol is involved.     So, there it all is. My soul laid painfully bare. All I can say is, "Heather, if this stark admission doesn't scare you off, then welcome to the Trey blogs".   Oh, and I almost forgot....I'm a boob guy....
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MySpace blog 1.25.07

An enigma revealed Current mood:august Category: Blogging Well hello there, guys. Did anybody catch The Tonight Show last night? If not, y'all missed a bizarre, rambling stand-up comedy set by a drunken Phyllis Diller. She said that she was about to turn 90, so.........have a beer for me, Phyllis. In case you are not the rabid Scooby Doo fan that I am, you may not be aware that Phyllis Diller actually starred in a Scooby episode. As I recall, she was smoking almost constantly in that episode. Way to be a Role Model for the youth of the 70's, Phyll.....Anywho, If you didn't catch her stand-up set, well.....don't despair. I've got a little joke for ya:     Me: Knock Knock...... You: Who's there? Me: Nutbag Pedophile.... You: Nutbag pedophile who? Me: The Nutbag pedophile that tried to pass himself off as a 12 yr-old boy by shaving off his body hair and wearing makeup. I enrolled in 7th grade. Later, it was discovered that I was really a 29 yr-old man! Surprise!     So.....y'all did hear about this, right? I'm sure that you (like most people) are wondering how in the world this freakjob could have passed for 12. I wondered that myself, until the afternoon that I had to accompany my oldest son (astute readers may know him as "sexy bitch"....y, eh?) to a local JP's office to pay for some speeding tickets that he had. On the ticket it states that a juvenile must be escorted by a parent. Into the office we went, and sauntered up to the receptionist's desk. I quickly explained that we were there to see the JP. The receptionist told us that the JP was not in, but took the ticket (I guess to calculate how much "the sexy bitch" owed). After reading the ticket, here is a true and accurate account of the conversation:*   Receptionist: "Now which of you is this ticket for?" Ryan: "Me" Receptionist: "A minor has to bring in a parent with him" Trey: "Yes Ma'am....That's why I'm here" Receptionist: "What? You're his parent?" Trey: "Yes Ma'am...I'm his dad" Receptionist: (blushing) "Oh...I'm not going to say how old I thought you were" Trey: (awarkwardly shifting his large girth from foot to foot) "oh...Haha" Ryan: (daydreaming about the ladies)".........." Receptionist: "I thought you were his brother, or friend, or something" Trey: (wondering if this is being filmed for a hidden-camera show) "Well....no"   This was a little strange for me. Older women usually don't hit on me in such a transparent ploy (Big Girls and Black Girls, sure, but not Old Ladies). I kinda think it's because my aggressive, surly sexuality must be a little threatening to them. But here was this older lady, dishing out compliments and pressing her cleavage together....yeah, ok, maybe I was looking.....what?.....Anywho, that's when it hit me. There are people in this world that CANNOT estimate age accurately. And that, my friends, is how a 29 yr-old man got enrolled in the 7th grade. BTW, As I write this, I'm considering trying to get back in the 10th grade. I'll let y'all know how it goes in a latter blog.       * Ryan can vouch for the truthfulness of said conversation. Names have been left out for the sake of basic human decency.
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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 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 03.06.07

It was the best of times, it was the...uh...best of times Current mood: quixotic Category: Blogging Well, last week at our house was winter break. That means everybody (except me) automatically gets 7 days off. It was an awesome week, though. Ciss and I made a roadtrip to Dallas earlier in the week to see Gomez. Traffic was not really that bad, but downtown....the streets are often one way, and there is currently a lot of construction. Put it all together, and it means that I only had to circle the block 5-6 times (Look kids....Big Ben!) before I could dart in to the tiny valet lot. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate valet? I think valet is in the top 3 evil things that Satan has loosed upon the Earth (The other 2 are methadone and Marilynn Manson). We will, unfortunately, further delve into the valet situation later on... The hotel was pretty cool. Very old building that had been re-done, but still had some soul left. Ciss and I wondered what to do first: Have a Starbucks treat? Walk around downtown and see the sights? Have a drink in the ultra-swanky bar? Long story short, we followed the example of some friends and had sex. There, I said it. We actually did all of the above, jackasses.... When it was time to depart for the concert, we decided to take a taxi. I walked over to a cab parked right outside the hotel's front door. The on-duty light thing on the top of the taxi was not turned on, so I was unsure if the guy was on break, or what. "Hey man" I say (because I am the people's champ), "Are you on the job?" The cab dude just looks blankly at me "We need a taxi", I explain "Abu jabba doe. No go diggy die" (in a thick Nigerian accent) I literally can not understand a single word that the guy is saying. So, I do the right thing and just start walking away. This is when Cissy walks up. "Can you take us to the Gypsy Tea Room", Ciss said. "yee-ssssss-uhhhh.....You know add-dresssss" "It's on commerce street, just up a couple of blocks" Cissy manages to direct the cabbie to the Tea Room. As we are exiting the cab, I almost step on some dude's foot. Turns out to be a member of the band Gomez. They appear to be on their way to scoring some dinner. After a short wait, we got in to the Tearoom. Now, if you've never been, I'll just tell ya: It's kind of a dive bar. I guess that's why my wife felt comfy enough to belly up to the bar and order a Chardonnay... WTF?!? (Beer and liquor only, sayeth the barkeep) ...The barkeep must have done his job pretty good, because Ciss was loose enough to make some friends at the concert (I know, I know...what a shocker...Ciss talking to some strangers and sharing our background). One was a kinda creepy couple originally from Colorado. Another was some very young blondie that was about to get married (but man, could she shake that ass!). Another was a goofball college kid with buck teeth (I would get to meet him after the concert, outside at the hotdog cart). Regardless, the concert was awesome. Real fuckin' awesome...The boys from Gomez played for well over 2 hours solid (not much talking between songs, and no breaks). They sounded great, but the crowd was mostly there to see the opening act, Ben Kweller ( He sounded ok, but he was dressed in this weird nautical-type theme. Striped sailor's shirt and captain's hat. I know it sounds bad, and he looked even more gay than my description sounds). After the concert, Ciss and I were hungry, and wanted to catch a quick taxi back to the hotel. I asked a nearby street hotdog vendor "Where is our best chance of catching a taxi?". "Right here", he answered, "Taxis run up and down all night long". While we were waiting, those damn hotdogs started smelling good. Cissy wanted one (This time, no sarcasm....I really WAS shocked that My wife wanted a processed meat product from a street vendor! Go figure....) but I explained that I was saving our cash for the taxi. I guess that was when the homeless guy heard that we wanted a taxi. "Y'all want a taxi?", he asked. "TAXI.....TAXI....." he bellowed, while running into and out of the street (ummm...I can clearly see that there are no taxis coming, crazy homeless dude...). Ciss and I started moving away. After we had waited awhile (Zero taxi sightings, either) we decided to start walking toward the hotel while keeping an eye out for a taxi. It was a little less than a mile, and the temp was nice and cool. As we were walking, though, I eventually noticed that we were discreetely being followed by a guy in a hoodie. He was about a half block back, but keeping pace to slowly overtake us. Of course, Ciss had no idea, and wanted to frequently stop and take pictures, until I explained. The only thing is....every time I told her we were being followed, she would say "Nuh-uh" or some variation thereof, until she spotted him with her own eyes. Finally, we made it back to the hotel. Just in time to miss room service. Well, I can always grab a quick bite.......Oh, wait a minute....That's right....My car is in VALET! I can go nodamnwhere! Cissy finally calls the front desk to ask if any place nearby delivers......Ah! Chinese food delivers! And the front desk hooks us up with the number! A very speedy 25 minutes later the delivery boy shows.....er, I actually should say the deliveryMAN, since he was about 50. And, here comes the unexpected....He spokey very little English! No, seriously! Very little English! The bill comes out to 26.87....all I have is 2 Twenties.....He looks like he has Zero idea of how to proceed, so I tell him "Just give me 3.00, and you keep the rest" (sure it worked out to be about a 40% tip.....That's just how I roll....That's why I'm America's Champion). Finally he got it through his head that I'd left him a pretty good tip, because there was a lot of grinning and nodding, until he backed out through the door. That was when Ciss discovered that we had been shorted one order of fried rice. The nice thing was.....finally I have beaten Brandi's and my record of drunken pizza spending. Forty dollar fried rice is a hands -down winner. You would think that for 40.00 it would be the best friggin' fried rice in the world, with all the amenities.....uh, not really......they forgot to include the eating utinsils. So.....Cissy sat on our expensive hotel bed and ate 40.00 fried rice with her fingers. Nice. So ladylke. Quite luckily, I had discovered the fork just in time for me to chow down. And this outing was only the start! Stay tuned for the 2nd part, or going to Ft. Worth with the family!
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MySpace blog 03.11.07

Is Fort Worth ever on your mind? Current mood: awake Man, Fort Worth was more fun than I thought it would be....For the latter part of winter break, the whole family made a trek to FW. I worked Thursday night, and we got up to go Friday morning. Cissy was going to drive and let me get a little more sleep.....but honestly, I feel a lot better about our chances of making it alive when I'm driving, even on 4 hrs of sleep. This time there was no trick parking, but it was.......you guessed it.....valet. Oh well. After we got settled into the room, Cissy was going to take the kids and go trail riding via horseback, while I would get a couple more hours of sleep in the posh bed. When they left, I thought it an oppertune time to take a big dump. This way, there would be plenty of time for the air to clear out (sometimes, the family complains about the fresh-picked-roses smell) by the time they got back. Post dump (and about 10 lbs lighter, if ya know whut I mean) I had just settled in for my nap and had been asleep for about 15 mins when the whole family rolled back in. Good thing I hadn't rented "All natural titty extravaganza....volume 4" (and I couldn't say for sure, but in the preview there was a woman that looked a LOT like our own B Liles....Hmmmmm) on the pay-per-view or that would have made for some awkward conversation. Well, it turns out that Cissy couldn't find the stables, but DID find a bunch of desserts. Yum.....Donuts..... A little while later, we decided to walk around downtown to find a place to eat. We probably hadn't walked 10 yards when the was a little "screech" sound. We all glanced at the direction of the sound and caught the tail end of a car vs. bicycle accident. "Oh, the lady in the car is having a REALLY bad day" joked Cissy, as the cyclist lay broken and bleeding in the gutter.....Nah, just kidding....the guy was ok. But as he struggled to his feet, we saw that this lady had not hit just any cyclist, but a BICYCLE COP! "Wow, that lady's day just got a whole lot worse" Ciss said, as the cop angrily waved the car to pull over on the side of the street while he had a word with her. Have you ever been to Fort Worth? Downtown, I mean? As we were eating, then later walking around, I was struck by how much of a cowboy town FW really is. Lots of Cowboy hats and boots, and the old Western cut jackets. As a person of Native American heritage, it was just about all I could do not to scalp some old man and shout "Bury my heart at Wounded Knee, mutherfucka!"....or maybe "I will fight no more forever!". And I probably would have, too....except for all the Bicycle cops milling about.
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