tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29585398002067319022024-03-19T10:09:32.423-07:00Things I've Left Behind....Melhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12810676335882671388noreply@blogger.comBlogger745125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-48577895537995295142016-09-23T13:57:00.003-07:002016-09-23T13:57:54.734-07:00Born in the Wrong Family...<span style="font-size: large;">It all began around June of 1945 and delivery was made promptly on 3/26/1946. I'm told it was a sunny day but where I had been hanging out it was pretty cramped. Then things went from bad to worse as I was removed physically from my little place and stuff into what felt like a straight jacket and squeezed down what turned out to be a birth canal. That's a heck of a way to start life but I persevered.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">As luck would have it, I was born into the wrong family but no one would listen! "I don't belong here," I kept telling them but they smiled and indicated I'd get used to it. I didn't. My mother screamed a lot, not just at me but everyone. One older brother tortured me when no one was around and denied everything when I complained. He was a "pincher," but only in places that wouldn't show. He was also an arm twister. He was 3 years my senior and always a head taller. He told his friends to beat me up and then watched as they did. My father never talked or said much of anything. He was just "there!" We weren't allowed to play with my younger brother, as he was too fragile and might get hurt. See, wrong family!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The next thing I knew, they were sending me off to a parochial kindergarten for training in a foreign language, forced to drink curdled milk out of a tiny bottle that had been sitting on a radiator for a couple of hours, watched other kids my age just cry their eyes out until they vomited, then bused home. I don't recall saying a word at school for the entire time, about 5 months. Hated it! One day and it was winter time, I missed the bus going home and didn't know what to do, I was 5 and alone. I walked over to the nearest tree and pushed the brim of my hat into the tree and just cried. Seemed appropriate! The next thing I knew, the bus was back for me, evidently the driver took a head count and came up short! I was saved to return to the wrong family...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">First grade was at a different school, Marshal Elementary School, about 85% African American and obviously White kids were the minority and because of our ethnicity, were victimized horribly. I was forced to hold my older brother's hand all the way there and all the way home, unless I was being beaten up, then he would act like he didn't know me. At age 9, We all moved to the suburbs, after my mother yelled at my father enough, he borrowed money from my grandmother to put a down payment on a house. A small 3 bedroom that we thought was the lap of luxury, it was. We were used to all three of we brothers sleeping in the same bedroom in a rather poor neighborhood in Chicago, where my mom and dad slept on a Murphy bed in the only other room besides the kitchen...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I suddenly had a life, friends, baseball, football and basketball. Even hockey! Kids ringing the bell and asking if I could come out to play. I even had a best friend! Life began!</span></div>
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Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-53164987996627732012016-08-24T15:03:00.004-07:002016-08-24T18:32:12.238-07:008423 N. St. Louis, Skokie, Illinois<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I don't think I've ever told this to anyone, pretty much because I just realized it, but I never had my own place to sleep growing up, ever! That's probably why I tended to sleep around for a long time until I got married. Ever since my earliest memories started, I always had to share a space with someone. First it was because we lived in a one bedroom apartment on Chicago's West side, where I was the middle child of 3 boys and my parents slept on a Murphy bed in the living room. By the way, I managed to light that one bedroom on fire, but that's a whole other story. We were poor by anyone's standards, but then, when I was 9, in 1955, my father accepted a gift from his mother, who lived in the lap of luxury, who vacationed in CA every winter, after my mother SCREAMING about it everyday, forever! We were Skokie bound, where I learned a new word from my mother in referring to houses. "Matchboxes". Everyone else's house looked like a matchbox except ours that truly was a matchbox! But, it had 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms and a full basement with plumbing for a 3rd bathroom! For us it was heaven.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">If you do the math, there were 3 bedrooms and my parents for some reason wanted one of them, the master bedroom, leaving 2 others for 3 boys. My kid brother got one, because he hadn't started school yet. My older brother got one out of respect for position, being the eldest and he needed his own, leaving me to sleep where I could. My younger brother's room had a sliding door closet, meaning a double, so I was allowed to keep my clothes there, while my older brother's room had only a single. My parents put a cot downstairs in the unfinished basement for me. Can you imagine the message that a young boys gets from this? Nobody has room for me! At some point when my grandfather passed away, my Bubbe came to live with us and my older brother was asked to move in with my younger brother and I was required to sleep with this 80 plus year old woman that didn't speak a word of English, just Yiddish. I listened to moans and groans and snoring of this woman, that really had no identity to me, other than occasionally she'd suck my entire cheek into her mouth while smiling, so I figured I was okay. To me the living situation was torture! Finally, when Bubbe couldn't stand my mother anymore and visa versa, Bubbe moved in with an aunt, but did I get the room? Nope, it was back to the damp basement, but at least privacy. My older brother got the room because truly it was always his! That's not even the reason that I moved out of that place at 18, but I got a job and never really looked back. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Why did this thought come to mind after so many years? My son is in Chicago on business and asked me for the address of where I grew up and he's going to send me a picture. A picture would be nice, but it's already emblazened into my memory, not necessarily in a good way...</span><br />
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Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-89169678706196698252016-08-20T15:56:00.003-07:002016-08-20T16:08:37.151-07:00 I've Got to get Smarter or Find a Wife...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Today's topic is fried food. I'm never going to cook it or eat it again. Here's my story...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">In my humble opinion, the tastiest way to eat pork chops or chicken breasts is to bread it and fry it. It's really a lot of work but with a reward and many detriments, such as clogged arteries. Having had multiple heart surgeries, I should know better but once in a great while I splurge. About once a year, I cave and buy thin pork chops while keeping my eyes closed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">On Tuesday of this week, I defrosted a package of hamburger meat and made a huge meatloaf. The recipe was handed down to me from a reliable source, the Internet! I cooked it, I ate it and I awakened about 2 AM feeling strange and puked. After, I laid in bed wondering what could have caused this stomach upset when suddenly I leaped out of bed at about 3 AM and started checking the expiration dates on my Costco bulk purchases within my freezer, only to see that some of the stuff was about to have a one year birthday. Having just heaved my guts, was enough motivation to toss everything!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Ribs, chicken breasts, hamburger meat, and chicken legs all in the trash! That left me with one lonely package of thinly sliced pork chops that I had recently purchased at the grocery store.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Wednesday after returning from the gym, I did my usual recuperation of about an hour in my recliner watching the news. Hunger rose it's ugly had and notified me it was time to eat. Doing a mental inventory of what I had in the house, it came down to peanut butter and jelly or fried pork chops. The pork chops won, hands down! I changed out of my gym clothes and into my frying clothes and began the tedious task of cooking, ugh!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I cracked 2 eggs and added a little milk and began the process of preparing my food. I chose a 8 inch frying pan that was beginning to lose it's Teflon coating and decided that instead of washing it after, I'd just throw it away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm a fan of double dipping, applying the egg wash and bread crumbs twice. Today with only 4 pork chops, I did a triple dip. I poured expensive virgin olive oil into my pan and heated it to the desired temperature and cooked 2 while applying breading to the second 2, being extra careful not to splash the hot boiling grease, even moving the handle to the 90 degree position, so there would be zero chance of accidentally hitting it. I lined a plate with paper towels and carefully removed the first 2 chops from the oil and I don't even know how it happened, but I hit the handle and as if in slow motion, I watched the oil form a spout and a huge stream of it came flying out of the pan, towards me. Thank God for something called reflexes because I jumped back and didn't feel any pain and thought that evidently the oil missed me, until I looked and saw the my green shirt and gold shorts were ruined with oil, even my underwear, it turned out. Yet it didn't burn me in the least. I looked up and you know who I thanked! (I'm becoming quite a fan of his.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I finished cooking the second 2 chops while I changed into something a little less greasy, sprayed WD-40 onto the oil spots and let it soak for 30 minutes, then pour liquid dish washing soap onto the whole mess and let it sit for another 30 minutes, then washed the soiled clothes in HOT water in the machine. Guess what? It worked! Stains completely gone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">By the time I was through with the entire process, I wasn't the least bit hungry but nibbled through the smallest one and waited for the laundry to finish... And that's why fried food is soooo bad for you!</span></div>
Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-81973309046188611852016-08-18T23:33:00.000-07:002016-08-19T11:29:19.152-07:00Southwestern Eye Center Debacle (disaster)...<span style="font-size: large;">This has been a miserable day! Several things lately haven't been going the way I'd prefer them, but that's just life. My job as an active member of society is to live my life in accordance with the experience that I have gathered over the years. Some call it being judgmental, but isn't that how you learned to cross a busy street? Using judgment?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My new insurance company, Health Choice, although trying, hasn't been doing the job they represented to me, thus far. I inquired about getting a cataract removed and they referred me to The first optical company where the young girl was just plain rude to me when trying to schedule an appointment. I decided that rather than defame her, I'd just hang up and use a different optical company, enter Southwestern Eye Center. The young lady at the insurance company set up an appointment for me but at a location that was pretty far away. Upon entering their Scottsdale location, about 12 miles away, I was asked to fill out a ton of paperwork. You know the routine. After a time, I was called in and examined by a young, perhaps 20 years old, girl that was short and quite plump, but that has nothing to do with my story. In advance, I was asked to bring a list of the medications I was taking and I did. One of the meds is a soda pill that I take 3 times a week to make life for my distressed kidneys a little better. She notes the meds I supplied her with, into the computer, then asks me if I use any other caffeine besides soda. I ask how she knew I occasionally drank soda and she replies that I listed it under my meds! I laugh and explain that the soda is a pill and I certainly wouldn't list soda under medications. More importantly, I realized she wasn't smart enough to be doing this job. (Judgmental) I skipped it, as it was now time to look through their apparatus. She would tell me not to blink, but would then push the gizmo against my eye lashes which causes a spontaneous blink. It's a human reflex, try it. Each time she'd touch my eye lashes with the machine, although I really tried, I found myself doing a reflex blink and she got mad, displaying her frustration and anger. Although I didn't say anything except it was a reflex that I have no control over, she showed her anger. I realized she had no business trying to do this job with her limited intelligence and wondered who hired her knowing this. I finally completed this part of my examine and was sent to see Dr. Palmer, then the receptionist who sent me to their Tatum and Bell Rd. location for a visit with the actual surgeon. This is the first that I'm hearing that they have a location much closer to me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I attend my next appointment with Dr. Siemi and find her to be an intelligent young woman, but possibly too young. Not being a great judge of age, this doctor could easily be perhaps 23 or 24! NOT experienced enough to be operating on my precious eyes. So I bluntly ask her, her age and she replies that it is an inappropriate question! I explain my concerns and she says, "Let's just say I'm past my mid thirties!" Although I still have my doubts, I accept it for true. (These are the only eyes I have.) I am then sent to wait in yet another room where I am ignored for about 25 minutes to wait for someone named Eon, the scheduler to come for me. After my frustrating wait, a pleasant young lady comes for me and I'm pretty sure she's not Eon. We discuss when. She explains that I cannot take a cab out of there on surgery day alone and I'm stuck for a ride to and from, as my son, who I called from her office in planning on going out of town the week of the 8/25, so I tentatively schedule it for 9/22 to fit into his travel plans. All of this took place on Monday the 15th of August and later that day I went to the gym for my usual workout and was explaining my problem to a buddy when he volunteered to to pick me up and wait for me, then drive me home! I was delighted! Tuesday morning, early, I called their office and was put on hold for 20 minutes when I got frustrated and hung up and called back, this time pressing 0 for operator and she immediately connected me with the missing in action, Eon! I immediately noticed that from his voice and way of speaking that he was from the gay side of town, not that there is anything wrong with that. In addition, I observed that he had no personality and was like speaking with a robot, but I don't need personality from a scheduler. I explained my dilemma and he advised me that Dr. Little Girl still had the 25th open, but I would need to go to the Scottsdale office and see Dr. Palmer for a lens fitting on Thursdays, 8/18, today.I'd already met Dr. Palmer and was quite impressed with his professionalism and agreed to that appointment, today.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Last night, thinking about how uncomfortable I am driving after having my eyes dilated, I texted my son to see if he was free to come with me, just in case. He called me back and told me he'd have to rearrange a few things but would certainly come to my aid. Perfect! We are both quite punctual and everything went perfectly with his arriving about 10:25 AM and we laughed all of the way to the Scottsdale location. As we entered, there were about 5 girls behind the counter, all laughing and having a good time. They seemed shocked to have company and one asked if she could help me. I said, yes I'm here for my dance lesson! They all laughed and I told the young lady that offered to help I was there to see Dr. Palmer for my 11 AM appointment. Her face kind of dropped as she reluctantly told me it was his day off! Then she told me I was probably confused and that Dr. Siemi is at the Bell Rd. office when I stopped her and explained in detail exactly how I know I'm not confused and that I need to speak to the manager immediately!!! The manager another youthful girl came out of hiding, listened to what the first girl had told her and left, not wanting to speak with me. I insisted that she get her. She came out and didn't say a word. I pretty politely explained that I don't really need Dr. Palmer, I can see whatever doctor is working today. She explained that Dr. Siemi will not accept anyone's work except Dr. Palmer. That message is, that the other doctors aren't any good, right? </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I realized I had chosen the absolute wrong company to do business with and politely (only because my son was there) asked how much cataract surgery costs. She said she couldn't tell me that. Then I ventured a low ball guess and said, $5000, $10,000? That's how much your company just lost today... Brad and I left and he didn't even yell at me! We were almost to Portillo's for lunch when my phone rang and it was this youthful office manager calling and begging me to reconsider. Telling me of the great doctor that's been with the company for 25 years. I told her after about 15 minutes that I'd consider returning to their company but don't count on it. Portillo's was mobbed at noon! Back to step one...</span>Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-4401311803466347022016-08-03T14:35:00.001-07:002016-08-03T14:35:14.049-07:00Zelda Zass<span style="font-size: large;">Several years ago, I was browsing along on Facebook when suddenly I caught the name of my little next door neighbor in a discussion. Although I referred to him as little, it was because I was 9 and he was 7, just a little kid, right? I learned that he had passed away many years ago and I joined the discussion to express my condolences. At some point I started a private conversation with a lady and quickly looked up her profile online. She was cute and we got to know one another. Our online relationship quickly moved to telephones and then to Facetime, where we spent many content hours just passing stories of past times. She told me she wanted to get out of the Chicago area for retirement and was considering several places. I've always been gung ho Arizona since I moved here many years ago. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I described the small town atmosphere when I first arrived in 1974 and how we only had one freeway in town, the I-17. The most amazing sunsets of anywhere in the world, the pleasant attitude of the people, seeing a horse and rider just walking down the street. In general, life the way it was meant to be. I described our cleaner environment. I describe how you could actually blow your nose and have it come out clear like water! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Months moved along and in October of 2015 Zelda finally moved here. We continued our communications, either seeing each other or speaking on Facetime at least 5 or 6 times a week. Last week we went to Portillo's to enjoy their Italian beef sandwiches and the other patrons with their Chicago accents when suddenly Zelda blurted out, "Hey, you lied to me!" Shocked I replied, "What?" You told me that when I'd blow my nose it would come out clear! She was just outraged. I looked at her and replied, "Yours doesn't?" She said, "NO," rather emphatically. I said, "Have you had it checked?"</span>Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-65561016239618437912016-08-02T16:01:00.000-07:002016-08-02T16:01:11.946-07:00Passing the Baton...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">A few years ago I got a call from my son Brad, asking if I'd like to join he and Max, my grandson, at the Salt Cellar in Tempe for dinner. Sure, I replied, what's the occasion? Nothing special, he just wanted to expose Max to oysters, Brad's favorite. Of course I wanted to go, anytime with my son and grandson is a good time. He picked me up and we took the 20 minute ride to the Salt Cellar.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we walked in the front door after descending the stairs, it instantly became dark, a night time setting and we approached the hostess desk. That's when it happened! The young girl looked past me and at my son and said, "How many?" My mouth fell open when the realization came to me that I was no longer the head of the household, a job that I'd held for many years and thought I did well! I was suddenly an old man just along for the ride. As she lead us to our table and seated us, I didn't say a word, but was reveling in my conclusion in somewhat of a shock. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We made small talk, discussing the fact that you either loved of hated oysters. Personally, I was a hater! Brad is a lover and thus far, Max didn't know. As we waited to ordered it happened again! The waiter approached, looked directly at my son and asked, "Ready to order?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Well, it was now confirmed. I had unknowingly passed the baton to my son. Max made a horrible face when he tasted oysters, I ordered the Shrimp Scampi and duplicated Max's face when offered an oyster. Brad had a steak and lots of oysters!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">There was a happy ending to this story because when the waiter came with the check, he handed it to Brad!</span><br />
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Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-89344920507800196162016-03-30T20:33:00.000-07:002016-03-30T20:33:20.155-07:00Fiasco number 28,293...<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Fiasco number 28,293 brought to you by United healthcare.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Life is either getting stranger or I'm getting too old to keep up. Here is the latest of many fiascoes that just occurred. I declared today, "self improvement day" and made a dental appointment for a cleaning and then I thought of the little bump in my left ear lobe that has been bothering me for about 60 years. I was in the 5th grade when a classmate told me at lunch hour that he had a bump in his ear lobe and I searched mine and found I had the same thing. It's never bothered me enough to do anything about it, but today being SELF IMPROVEMENT DAY, why not? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I called United Healthcare and the first doctor they gave me was a guy that I lived with his ex-wife for about a year. Probably not a good idea to see him under these circumstances, I could lose an ear, huh? The next 2 were disconnected, so I asked the nice young lady to do my footwork and try some more for me. She starts telling me that I need a referral from my primary care physician and I explain that I've never needed this in the past and she didn't have an answer. By the way, she sounded about 18 years old. I decided this was a wild goose chase and begged off and hung up. While driving to run some errands, I got a call from a doctor's office. I asked which doctor's office she was calling from and she didn't know, explaining there were 15 doctors that she worked for. I had to blow her off, as I was driving and she wanted my insurance ID number. An hour later I returned her call, but she said she couldn't speak with me to schedule anything without a referral. What the.....? Now I call my Primary Care Physician who will from this point forward be referred to as PCP. A voice answered that frankly I could not identify as to gender. I told "it" I needed a referral from Dr. Taxin. "It" asked, had I seen Dr. Taxin before and I replied, yes. Then, did you see him for the reason you want a referral? I knew if I answered no, he would tell me that I needed to make an appointment with him, for the issue. I replied, I think so. (not good enough). "It" answered, if you don't know for sure, you'll have to make an appointment as there is no record of him seeing me for a bump in my ear. (Damn, they kept records) However Dr. Taxin doesn't have any appointments available for a long time, but I can see Dr. Meres on Monday. Do I want the appointment? I said, "Are you kidding me? I have to make an appointment with a total stranger, to get a referral to see a dermatologist that I've never even heard of and no one will even tell me his name? Do I want the appointment or not? I told "it" that I needed to consult with my social director and I'll get back with you!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I do need to ask one question. Who is paying for 2 appointments, because it's not me. I have Medicare thankfully, so all of you and I are paying for this ridiculous system!</span></div>
Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-6203209717584972972016-02-07T13:59:00.003-08:002016-02-07T19:33:04.327-08:00Along came Karen...<div style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As I laid in bed last night trying to fall asleep, a thought entered my mind that immediately made me bust out laughing! Kind of unusual for a man sleeping alone. I'll try to pass that thought on to you. Do not try this at home!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The year was 1958 and I was 12 years old. My parents, not loaded with money, decided that in order for me to accomplish my Bar Mitzvah at age 13, they'd better send me to Hebrew school to at least learn the letters of the Hebrew language prior to that event, although it turned out not to be necessary. But it did expand my life to more than baseball, football and basketball, which were the grand total of my interests. I remember being older than all of the other kids in my beginners class which made it pretty uncomfortable for me, but minding my own business helped a lot. After class, we went out to a playground to wait for our respective rides home, either parents or a van that drove me, as my mother didn't drive. Standing around waiting for my van to pick us up, I noticed a girl chatting with her friends and there was an immediate magnetism. My first attraction! I didn't know what it was, but I couldn't take my eyes off of her and didn't know why. Eventually I walked over and said, hello. Her name was Karen </span><span aria-haspopup="true" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" data-g-spell-status="3" id=":yv.5" role="menuitem" style="color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;" tabindex="-1">Feldman</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> and I soon learned that her father was the president of the temples men's club and remember a short stout man off in the distance that she pointed to. Aha, royalty! I realized that I really liked Karen and waited for her after class daily. She was 10 and I was 12, but she was very mature for her age. We exchanged telephone numbers and I made dates with her to meet her at the school on days when we didn't have class, like Saturday afternoons and Sundays. We'd go to Sam and Hy's and split an order of fries and a chocolate phosphate and listen to the waitress that knew both of our families tease us. We were an item!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">One Saturday afternoon we made a date to go to the movies in downtown <span aria-haspopup="true" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" data-g-spell-status="3" id=":yv.6" role="menuitem" tabindex="-1">Evanston</span> and took the bus there. Karen brought her birth certificate along to prove her age of 10 years, so she could get into the movie for the child's price of 25 cents to save me money. Being 12, mine was 50 Cents. After, when I was taking her home, she gave me a kiss on my cheek and I literally floated all of the way home. After putting up with that long story, you are now entitled to the part that literally broke me up last night, when the thought passed through my aged mind. It was a late Saturday afternoon and it was summer. Karen and I were hanging out on the teeter-<span aria-haspopup="true" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" data-g-spell-status="3" id=":yv.7" role="menuitem" tabindex="-1">tauter</span>, but we were weren't using it the way it was designed to be used. We were laying on two of them, next to one another with our respective feet on the handles and laying backwards on them just chatting away. One of the things that's cool to do when you're 12 is to hock up a <span aria-haspopup="true" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" data-g-spell-status="3" id=":yv.8" role="menuitem" tabindex="-1">loogie</span> from deep in your throat and spit it as far as you can. So I did precisely that, but I didn't allow for the strong wind that was blowing rather aggressively towards us. This baby was a real winner, I mean huge! I let her fly while lying back on the inclined board, when suddenly panic struck! I let go of that <span aria-haspopup="true" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" data-g-spell-status="3" id=":yv.9" role="menuitem" tabindex="-1">loogie</span> and realized it was coming right back down at me and likely to hit me right across my face! It did!!! I crashed to the ground, rubbing my face in the nearby grass with Karen asking me, what's wrong? Oh, nothing I said, just got something in my eye! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't think I ever saw Karen again. It became fall and school began and I dropped out of Hebrew School to begin my Bar Mitzvah lessons.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">And that's how I finally learned to be cool!</span></div>
Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-59178501905698611632016-01-10T16:56:00.001-08:002016-01-10T16:56:24.851-08:00United Health (doesn't) Care...<span style="font-size: large;">If you read my post about having a tooth extracted on 10/19/15, let me explain the aftermath. Today is now 83 days later and ..... </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">On 11/5/15 I went to the ER complaining of pain and the inability to open my mouth more than a 1/4 inch. They took a CT scan, charged my insurance company $4500 and told me to see a dentist, then referred me to a dentist in the ghetto. It felt like I'd gone full circle. Next was a visit to my cardiologist and he was good enough, after our scheduled visit to walk me next door to a friend of his in dentistry. He talked to me and explained that my dentist may have hit a nerve with her multiple injections and who I needed was an oral surgeon that specialized in the jaw. My next attempt was to contact my insurance company to locate for me, an oral surgeon that knew about the human jaw. They personally contact a Dr. Mavadi, but the earliest appointment that I could get was 2 weeks into the future. I agreed to waiting that long and keep in mind that the appointment was made with me on the phone in a conference call. A lady friend said she wanted to go with me and I was all for that. Time went by slowly as it does when you are in pain, but the ER supplied me with 20 Percocet pills to assist in sleeping, being careful not to take too many realizing they are addictive. Eventually 12/15 came around and my friend came to pick me up. We drove to my appointment and the office was completely empty of patients. I approached the counter and introduced myself to the Hispanic girl behind and said, "Hi, I'm Mel Fisher, your next victim." She laughed and that was my ice breaker. I pulled out my insurance card and and her face fell, explaining that they don't accept my insurance! Flabbergasted and not knowing what to say, I ask her to check with her superior. Timidly the doctor came out, a short Middle Eastern woman and told the girl to call the insurance company. While the girl was double checking, the doctor explained that the only way she would see me was on a cash basis. The Hispanic girl returned from her call and confirmed they didn't accept United Health Care. Embarrassed, head down, I took my friend by the arm and explained we had to leave, but her coffee wasn't yet brewed, so we had to stand there while it finished, feeling awkward.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Upon finally leaving, a million thoughts went through my head about what had just transpired when my lady friend, who we will call Karen, because that's her name, explains that she needs a bowl of chicken soup with a matzo ball and to pull into Chompies. I do as she asks and we are seated shoulder to shoulder with all of the other dining people devouring corned beef sandwiches. That's when Karen dicided to start screaming at me! Although she probably thought she was keeping her voice down, the man next to us removed his hearing aid! She was yelling at me, when you go to a doctor's office you don't make jokes! You act like you're in pain, that way the doctor will see you! I determine all of this to be insane and try to determine why she's really yelling, but at the same time I need to diffuse her. I simply look at her and ask if she thinks we're married and smile? That seemed to work, because my response confused her. I realized that she only knew how to express herself in a parent/child relationship and I refused to be the child! She finally shut up and people stopped looking at us with the corner of their eyes. She asked me for the telephone number of the insurance company and began her salvation of my jaw and also trying to show me her power. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">At some point she was able to schedule an appointment but not for about 3 hours later. We ran her errands for that amount of time and arrived at the doctor's office about 90 minutes early. Time dragged on, as we read magazines silently when suddenly a man enters wearing sweat pants. He's an obese fellow and 5' 7" with a huge belly and younger than me, but with skinny legs, I'd guess about 60. While he was schmoozing with the receptionist, his pants fell down and I couldn't believe my eyes! In almost 70 years, I'd never seen that happen to anyone! All I could do was gently nudge Karen with my elbow and watch her mouth fall open and whip out her iPhone! Now I was embarrassed that she wanted to film the event. The funny thing was, the man was making no immediate attempt to pick them back up! As I watched him, he slowly bent over, continuing to to flirt with the young girl, and then picked them up. That's when the girl came out and called my name or attempted to. Mel is not that difficult to announce but the African-American assistant pronounced it in 2 syllables and another man approached her saying he was Bill. I was the only other person there, except for pants-less, so I approached saying I'm MEL. She took me back and weighed and measured my height, telling me I was 73 inches tall and I looked at my 1 inch heels and realized I'd shrunk and inch. I waited for the doctor. As he finally came in, I realized that poor Karen had waited alone for quite a long time and with her lack of patience, I should probably ask if she could attend my exam. It wasn't like I was getting a prostate exam! The doctor, wearing light grey suede shoes went to look for her himself and kind of swished out the door returning and telling me there no one waiting for me, but he asked one of the nurses to watch for her. Eventually there was knock at the door and it was she. I explained to the little doctor why I was there and he explained to me that he was a family doctor and that he knew nothing about the jaw! He too offered me drugs and gave me a list of oral surgeons, that I promptly threw away, because I need one within my insurance network. We left with Karen explaining that I never told her I needed an oral surgeon. I said, nothing!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The following day, Karen had asked me to drive her to the airport and was exceedingly rude to me for the entire morning, when I finally screaming at her in the car to SHUT THE FUCK UP! She did and never said another word to me and thankfully didn't call me for a ride to pick her up from the airport, which was good because I would have decline Back to flying solo, I called my irresponsible, United Health Care, but this time I asked for a supervisor. You would have thought that I'd asked for a pint of blood. They ask what it is about. I explain, that what I want to talk to a supervisor about. Finally they attempt to connect me and get a voice mailbox. I leave a message and try again, no luck, Shanicia is not picking up. About 4 hours later, Shanicia returns my call and I explain my dilemma for about 30 minutes. she's a good listener (I think) but when her return call comes, it's from a subordinate and she's schedule an appointment with an oral surgeon, finally. The appointment that I actually called and arranged was quite a distance and it turned out to be in a rather poor neighborhood and few of the people waiting used English as their first language. After waiting for about 30 minutes, I was called in and x-rayed and escorted to a dentist's chair. In walks this dude that looks like he just came from the gym about 40 years old. I explain why I'm there and he laughs. He puts his fingers in my mouth and tries to pry it opened. I'm in pain, so I grab his arm and stop him. He laughs again and asks, how can you eat? I immediately know I'm in the wrong place again and tell him so. He says, he doesn't know anything about the jaw, that what I need is an ENT surgeon and leaves. Disgusted and frustrated, I go home and call Shanicia and naturally get voicemail. I leave a message and then 2 more in the following days, but nothing. Now another 10 days go by as I get pisster and pisster and I leave a message that says I'm giving her until the close of business tomorrow to return my call or I'm going to go over her head to explain what United Health Care and Shanicia have put me through. The return call comes the next afternoon with her explaining that she's been out for 10 days, that absolutely don't believe and ask why she didn't say that on her voicemail message. She explained it was expected, (uh huh). I then get a call from one of her subordinates and she has a doctor's office on the line and again we have a conference call. I specifically ask if they treat TMJ and have knowledge of the jaw. The nice lady explains in detail, everything they do there and it sounds perfect. I schedule an appointment for this past Thursday at 4 PM and it's 5 minutes from where I live, in the same office complex as Dr. Madavi. I fill out the new patient application online and I'm ready to go. Then on Thursday, just to make sure, I call there again and confirm that they accept my insurance because I've been this far before and she says, yes but let me call with your ID number. She calls me back 3 minutes later and the system says I haven't been a member since 2011! What??? I just got this card 3 weeks ago. Now the "nice lady" starts acting like I'm some kind of crook and I realize that I'm not going to be able to convince her when she insists on cash in advance or forget it. I choose, forget it and hang up frustrated as usual. I call United Health Care and explain what happened and the girl I speak with explains that the provider needs to speak with a person, not the automated system, because that can't be changed! Then this new representative needs two or three more days to look for a provider. Would you like to be with United Health Care?</span>Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-3393639253396350862016-01-02T14:45:00.000-08:002016-01-02T14:45:17.471-08:00The Intricacies of Online Dating...<span style="font-size: large;">Over the years, not by choice mostly, I have found myself single and seeking members of the opposite sex for companionship. I've belonged to Matchmaker, Plenty of Fish, Match.com, something called Seniors Meet for about 2 days and finally, Zoosk. I learned that most of the smaller dating services are owned and operated by Apple. After 2 days on Seniors Meet, I learned that the people that I was seeing belonged to other dating services and that Seniors Meet didn't even have it's own client base. On day 3, they no longer recognized me as a customer and I was declined access, rejected by the site, so I contacted my bank and was credited my payment of about $75 back. Then I joined Zoosk and paid them about $85 for that membership. As a member, I discovered that it was only the beginning and they wanted MORE money to contact other members! To write to a lady, you had to pay coins that were available only from Zoosk for 100 more dollars for 2000 of them. Slapping my forehead, I dialed the, now memorized, number of my bank to get me out of this. They explained that the dating service was owned by Apple and Apple would not contest any request for a refund, but would not allow me access to any other Apple sites. I agreed without question as Apple seemed pretty illegitimate at this point. I was happy to be off Zoosk, but suddenly I was no longer allowed to update my iPhone! Holy crap, talk about holding a corporate grudge!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I contacted a friend in Chicago that worked for a company that had an IT person who knew an employee at Apple and told me to call her. I did and she reversed everything. I could now update my iPhone and was allowed FREE access to Zoosk! HA! So I was a member of Zoosk for 6 months for free, but as it turned out, this was not a good thing. I've never experienced a more dishonest website in all of my years. I learned that you could earn "coins" by saying whether or not you liked a woman's appearance and could accumulate 40 coins a day. I used these coins to write to contact perspective members and learned that they only charge the men. Women have a free ride. Zoosk also contacts me in the form of a text message or email, both, to tell me that so and so wants to chat. When you contact so and so, she knows nothing about it and acts accordingly. (how embarrassing). Since it's all free, I did my share of complaining to other members, but put up with it. Everyone I spoke with agreed with me, it was awful.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My membership was over 1/1/16 and I worried the entire time that they would do an automatic renewal to my credit card even though I declined that option, which took a team of attorneys about 3 days to decipher how to do it. Now because there is a God and I wholeheartedly believe in him, about 2 weeks ago, my credit card was hacked and my bank stopped all charges to it and issued me a new card and number. Sure enough, 3 or 4 days ago, Zoosk contacted me and told me that there may be an interruption in my service because they cannot get an approval on my credit card. HOORAY!!! Even though I had declined renewal, they still tried to hammer my card! That phase of my life is over and I'll be just fine on my own.</span>Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-66515666179266367352015-12-09T18:53:00.000-08:002015-12-09T18:53:00.420-08:00A Blast from the Past...<strong style="background-color: #e0e0e0; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.5px; text-align: -webkit-center;"><em><span style="color: #3366ff; font-size: 11.05px;">Middle of Feb 2005, home a few days.</span></em></strong><br />
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<span style="font-size: 16.9px;">When I first awakened in a brightly lit hustling room, my eyes wouldn't focus. There were people there and everyone was doing something and seemingly very busy. My son Brad was there and said to me, "Do <span class="il">you</span> know how long <span class="il">you</span>'ve been sleeping"? I did not! I didn't even know WHERE I'd been sleeping. My son lived in California, what was he doing here? I tried to speak, but nothing would come out. Was this why I was in this strange place? I was in a hospital and couldn't speak and I'm not sure anyone knows. Was I in an accident? The most predominant thing that I remember now is the vast confusion of everything. I motioned that I wanted a pen and paper to write a few questions upon and was given them. I couldn't coordinate enough to write out a message. My depth perception wouldn't allow me to get the pen to touch the paper. The first thing I needed to convey was that I had to pee and I mean it was serious. After trying to form an upper case P for about 5 minutes, Brad finally said, "<span class="il">You</span> have to pee"? I shook my head up and down. The nurse advised me that I had a catheter in and I should just relax and let it out. OHHHHHH..... what a relief... The next bit of business was to find out why I couldn't speak. Over the years I'd become rather used to it and it seemed a shame to lose that ability. I was told that I was on a respirator and that I'd had heart surgery and suddenly everything started coming back. The things that I had hoped were just a bad dream. I found out that I was in a medically induced coma and had been asleep for about 10 or 12 days. I looked down and there was a large gaping scar on my chest that had already begun to heal and the staples had already been removed. Where were my dogs??? Were they okay, I remember asking as soon as they removed the long tube from my throat. It reminded me of a serpent coming out. It must have been 3 feet long too. I was immediately given a vacuum to spit into. I gave the nurse my confused look because speaking was difficult. She explained that I haven't been able to cough or clear my throat for 2 weeks and I'd need to get rid of the phlegm. HUH??? A mass the size of a football came up and was sucked into the vacuum tube as soon as I coughed, ugh!!! I was now good to go. I started talking and haven't stopped yet. Eventually they removed my catheter and I'll never understand where they found the room to hide that thing.<br /><br />Now it was time to try to recreate the past 2 weeks...<br /><br />If I recall correctly, I had been suffering from a congestion problem. A month before that, my right leg had swelled up and I never did find out why. I went to a vascular specialist and he said it wasn't a vein problem. My doctor, a friend of mine, put me on a diuretic for the swelling and it seemed to go down. He also gave me thyroid pills after a blood test. So, it's 1/23/05 and I'm pretty congested and I'm thinking that if this congestion gets any worse, I might not be able to breathe at all. I got kind of scared and called my friend, the doctor in the middle of the night, about 3:30 AM. He didn't answer, but called me right back. He asked me if I could drive, but I didn't have anywhere to go. He came right over and literally threw me into his car. We went to Paradise Valley Hospital, a BIG mistake! He dropped me off and went to park the car. They totally ignored me. When Sam got there he asked if anyone had talked to me and I said no. He disappeared into the break room and came out with about 5 people in uniforms and scrubs. I think he told them I was a rock star!<br /><br />Within seconds they had me on a gurney and had wires hooked up to me and they were telling me I was in cardiac arrest. I told them they were mistaken, I felt fine, just a little congestion. They shot me full of nitro-glycerin, hey what do I know? For the next hour they prodded and poked and finally they were sending me to a place called the Cath Lab.<br /><br />The Cath Lab was a hospital operating room setting with everyone wearing masks. Pretty soon a maniac came prancing in screaming at everyone, myself included. I remember him telling me that from now on he's my doctor and I'm not to listen to anyone else but him. Do I understand? What would <span class="il">you</span> say? I said, yes! I was asked if I were allergic to iodine and I asked for a better definition of what he wanted to know. He said, are <span class="il">you</span> allergic to shrimp? I thought he was ordering out! I told him no, I love shrimp. He told me to sign there, then! I signed what turned out to be a permission slip for him to kill me.<br /><br />The next thing I knew they were stripping my clothes off and shaving me. Then it was a needle that went into my groin and that was not the worst of my problems. The needle was to go tracing through my body and it had a camera on it. Geez! I was watching the whole thing on a monitor and it was better than the Discovery Channel. Suddenly everything clouded up and we lost our picture. At home I would have called the cable company, but here I just asked what<span class="il">happened</span>. He said he tore my heart! What? He tore my heart, just matter of factly. I tried to compute the ramifications of that. I asked if I were going to die and he calmly said, "I don't know" with his Indian accent! I was getting pretty concerned about now as the blood that was supposed to be going to one place was now not getting there, but instead was flooding into my chest cavity as I had a hole in my descending artery of my heart. I started to get some pretty serious pain in my chest and now I know what a heart attack feels like in case anyone wants to know ahead of time, just ask. Why wait? Now I asked this asshole doctor what his next plan was. He said they were going to air-o-vac me to another hospital, as they do not have a cardiac department there. WHAT? No cardiac department and they do this sort of procedure here?<br /><br />The next thing I know they're boarding me onto my very first helicopter ride and the sun is now coming up over Phoenix and it's beautiful and I'm on my way to open heart surgery and I've never had anything worse than a root canal. I still enjoyed the sunrise and was truly hoping it was not my last..<br /><br />Evidently the staff on board the helicopter were related to the doctor that poked a hole in my heart, as they proceeded to close the door on my foot at least 3 times before they would listen to me as I was screaming, it's hitting my foot! I had so much morphine in me that I couldn't even feel the pain any longer. My $17,000 ride to the next hospital was slow as we hovered over John C. Lincoln Hospital awaiting permission to land.<br /><br />The staff at J. C. Lincoln was polite, attentive and good listeners. As soon as I spotted someone with an authoritative look, I asked if I could have whatever it is that will put me out of my misery. The next thing I knew, a nurse was shooting something into my IV and 10 or 12 days had gone by! That was some shot!<br /><br />It wasn't until I was already discharged from the third hospital and was already researching things for my first lawyer that I found out some of the things that<span class="il">happened</span> to me from the hospital reports. I went to John C. Lincoln Hospital and secured them. I learned that my kidneys had failed and I had been on dialysis for 3 weeks. I also learned that my son was told that I was going to die and to be prepared for that, as my blood pressure could not be stabilized. I learned that I had several surgical procedures after the heart surgery to remedy some of the after effects of the botched initial surgery. I learned that my heart surgeon was about 30 years old and had not even made it onto his Medical firms stationary at that point.<br /><br />According to the hospital reports, they botched the attempt to put the balloon pump that supplied much needed oxygen to the vital organs after heart surgery. It states in the report that the unruly patient pulled it out and it had to be reinstalled at a later time. That time was about 3 hours later when they realized my kidneys had failed. Subsequently they sewed the pump to my leg. Yes, <span class="il">you</span>read that right. I have a scar on the inside of my right knee to prove it. I then formed a blood clot in my right lung that had to excised to enable me to breathe and of course the 2 surgical procedures to drain the accumulated fluid from my lung cavities. All of this was done while I slept. I'm glad I missed it. I'm really quite glad to have survived all of this, but I am amazed that all of this went on and I was never <span class="il">ever</span> told.<br /><br />Let's discuss the reason that all of this <span class="il">happened</span>. If <span class="il">you</span> recall back at the beginning of this story, I was told I was in cardiac arrest and I doubted that it was the correct diagnosis. It seemed that my heart was only infected. It was enlarged from infection. No one caught it until they opened me up and drained a liter and one half of fluid from my peradiem, the sack around my heart. I was then administered an anti-biotic directly into my heart and all was soon to be well. They repaired the hole in my heart with a tire patch kit from Wal-Mart, did a triple bypass while they were in there and closed me up, leaving a 10 inch scar down the front of my chest that isn't even straight. (It wanders to the right.)<br /><br />I'm missing an important body part!<br /><br />I thought that might get your attention. <span class="il">You</span> know that bump that is on the inside tip of your clavicle? <span class="il">You</span> have 2 of them directly down from your neck. My left one is missing, just gone! What did they do with that thing. It doesn't even have a name and it's missing just the same. Did it break off while they were drilling or sawing? Did some big goon snap it off with his thumb? And what did they do with it? Was there some guy waiting in the wings for a clavicle tip transplant? If <span class="il">you</span> see it, please send it home. I miss it.<br /><br /><span class="il">You</span>'re probably thinking that this guy really made out with the law suit, right? Well, there wasn't one. It turns out in Arizona, the courts LOVE their doctors, even the bad ones. 7 out of 8 malpractice law suits go in the way of the doctors here. In order for me to sue anyone, they wanted me to cough up with about $150,000 in expert witness fees to bring in a doctor from out of state to testify that I did not get a minimum of care, and it was more likely than not that I was going to lose, too. Seven separate lawyers all told me the same thing. There is a 2 year statue of limitation that was up almost a year ago. Not only did I not benefit 10 cents from this, but it chewed up a large portion of my savings, as well. Getting sick ain't cheap!<br /><br />At some point in my stay at John C. Lincoln Hospital, they determined that I was no longer a candidate for the IC Unit and they were going to transfer me to a regular room, however the computer would not allow it. It turned out that my insurance wasn't good there for anything but Intensive Care, so at about 2 or 3 AM they called an ambulance and offered me a ride to Good Samaritan Hospital where my Cigna Insurance is accepted. I begged to wait until morning so that my son wouldn't come in to see an empty bed and think it was okay to drive my red Corvette! Not only that, but the attending nurse told the guys that were driving the ambulance that I was a bed wetter. That really pissed me off.<br /><br />So I arrive at Good Sam's with all new faces and little tiny TVs, no wonder it's cheaper. At this point, I was no longer on Morphine and I was no longer hallucinating. Suddenly the drugs washed out of my system and I was included in a room full of people that apparently had been there the day before, but I was seeing them for the first time. My ex-sister-n-law Patty was there and I hadn't seen her for years. Business acquaintances showed up and they had been there the day before too. As my head cleared, I looked in the mirror and saw an old man that looked frail with almost 3 weeks of beard and almost a half inch of hair growing out of his ears! I asked for a razor, shaving cream and a brush...<br /><br />I think I was discharged on about Valentine's Day, Feb. 14th, 2005. Aunt Pat was gracious enough to come home with me and care for me. I couldn't have done it on my own and I will forever be grateful to her. I had to go to doctor's appointments, get blood drawn on a regular basis, get that damned catheter removed from my jugular vein as I no longer needed dialysis, thank God. I had to go to the lung guy 3 times a week to get my lungs drained, it was no picnic. They put in a permanent drain into my side and all they had to do when I came in was hook me up to the pump. I was good until one day they wanted to remove the plastic line. Did that <span class="il">ever</span> hurt?<br /><br />I recall one day that I decided to take a bath, shortly after I got home from the hospital. I ran the water and got into the tub, but when I was finished, I wasn't strong enough to lift myself out of the tub and I didn't feel I knew Aunt Pat well enough to call for help! After sitting there for who knows how long, the water was getting cold. I finally figured out a way to slither like a snake out of the tub and onto the bathroom floor. That may have been my most humiliating moment.<br /><br />After about a week, Aunt Pat went home and my son Brad came to care for me for a week. It was a long week for him, I'll bet. Then Patty returned from Chicago and took back over the task. I think when she finally left a week later she had had enough of me. My friend Randi then came and took care of me for a while and then I was recovered enough to handle myself. To these people I will always be grateful, particularly Patty that let me drive her crazy...</span></div>
Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-33329105956888743192015-10-20T15:08:00.000-07:002015-10-20T15:08:58.032-07:00Huge Wisdom Tooth Extraction...<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">After putting up with a touchy wisdom tooth for several months, calming it with an occasional </span><span aria-haspopup="true" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" data-g-spell-status="3" id=":1bn.1" role="menuitem" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" tabindex="-1">Vicodin</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">, I finally went through my Medicare book looking for a dentist. Finding one with a name that I could pronounce, I called and got no answer, twice, but the message on the answering machine gave an emergency number that I dialed. After the phone ringing 3 times, it was answered with a hello! It sounded like the gentleman answering was on about the 5th hole of a Scottsdale golf course. I explained who I was and how I got his number. He replied that they should have answered, me replying, that's what I thought! He said, let me try it and have them call you back and I guarantee that we'll get you in today! I did. About 7 or 8 minutes went by and my phone rang and it was the receptionist at the dentist's office explaining that the storm knocked out their line (coffee break). She scheduled me for 2 PM and told me that she'd email me the fill out information. I explained that I didn't have a printer and she told me to be there at 1:15 in that case. Shit, 45 extra minutes of describing my sore foot from 2007! I hate this part!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I arrive right on time with my sore tooth in tow. The receptionist is cold and unaccommodating and I try to fill out the 1/4 inch think papers of questions that I know don't matter. After a long time, I'm still not finished and the dentist's assistant comes to get me and I hand over my paperwork with her reminding me to sign it eleven times for <span aria-haspopup="true" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" data-g-spell-status="3" id=":1bn.2" role="menuitem" tabindex="-1">HIPPA</span>. The dental assistant is determined to use words that are way bigger than she needs to to convince me of her intelligence and I try to keep up using words that I actually make up! She just nods and I smile internally. At some point the receptionist comes in and announces that my insurance only agrees to pay for ex-rays and an initial exam, which pisses me off because my tooth hurts and according to this lady, it's not going to be addressed. I'm wondering why I'm even there, when miss Big Words starts explaining what ex-rays are. With my mouth agape, she shoots away. Miss Big Words assures me that the dentist has petite hands and will be as gentile as humanly possible. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In comes the dentist, a woman about 22 to 25 wearing a scull cap and scrubs, with a mask and the only thing I can see is this really huge pimple just under her eye and wonder if she can see over that thing. She says nothing, gives me an injection of numbing agent and we wait for this magic drug to take effect. I'm always afraid during an extraction that the Novocaine with not fully work that the dentist will have climb on top of me to hold me down, while I scream, but that's never happened. The following is the dentist's entire dialogue with me: "Open wide." I do and Miss Big Words announces the tooth is out! I feel absolutely nothing! My dentist vacates the room, probably to put hot compresses on that horrid pimple and I never see her again. A little confused, I show Miss Big Words the <span aria-haspopup="true" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" data-g-spell-status="3" id=":1bn.4" role="menuitem" tabindex="-1">texting</span> that I've been doing with Brad, my son and Karen, my friend. It says, "here it comes, she's got a pliers in her hand!" Brad replies, "You and your crazy weight loss ideas." I go to the desk, settle up and leave... No pain prescription or instructions besides a piece of paper saying not to smoke or spit tobacco for a week.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm only 10 minutes from home with a half frozen face and all I can think of is Kramer on Seinfeld and the episode of him going to the dentist, then trying to drink water and the water dripping all over his chin and chest! I burst out laughing, all alone. When I get home, I sit back in my reclining chair and fall asleep for about an hour and when I awaken the numbing agent has worn off and my face feels like I've just been shot with a 357 Magnum. Holy Shit! I take a <span aria-haspopup="true" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" data-g-spell-status="3" id=":1bn.5" role="menuitem" tabindex="-1">Vicodin</span> and thank my lucky stars I have them, then another and assume the stoned position for the rest of the evening, that can be verified my the people I spoke with, but guess what? No more wisdom tooth!</span></div>
Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-10494064492755341712015-08-20T16:03:00.001-07:002015-10-16T14:23:49.404-07:00Ashley Madison Cheating Service...<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">With all of the hoopla about the Ashley Madison Cheating Service that's been publicized lately, it kind of reminds me of a story that happened to me personally about 8 years ago. I was totally enamoured with a woman that I'd met on Match.com. She was quite a bit younger than me and according to the information offered on the site, divorced, but that turned out to be an exaggeration, she was separated. We chatted on the phone for months before actually meeting, as she was currently occupied in that area and wanted to see what happened with her current love, that turned out to be married cowboy that lived in Wyoming. Turned out it was merely a fantasy love. Didn't really have the wings to fly. So I came rushing in like a customer in a bakery with my number in my hand, NEXT... </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I wined her and dined her and slowly was falling for her and she, I, or so I thought. We spent hours, then days together, only coming up for air when one of our respective dogs needed something. I had the Dynamic Duo and she had an old, old lab that lived her her walk-in closet. Also, it turned out that she was still going through a heart breaking divorce because she supposedly discovered her beloved husband was cheating on her and a member of Ashley Madison's. I felt sorry for her and comforted her and listened to her stories of woe. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One day while bored, I received a piece of spam mail from the cheaters service and just out of curiosity I opened it and it advertised a dating service for the discreet. Having heard of this site only from my girlfriend, I was even more curious. I opened it and learned that the only way that I could see the members was to become one! So my plan was to join the service, then resign after I got a chance to look at slutty ladies with no character. Frankly, I didn't know what I was going to see. I signed up and now I thought I'd be required to supply a picture, so I supplied a bad picture with the intention of removing it almost immediately. Voila! I was in! I looked at members, some fat, some not, some pretty average while others were just pretty when suddenly without warning, my next click was my wonderful girlfriend! I cannot tell you the emotions that I went through, scared, jolted, shocked, sad, disappointed and disillusioned were only some of them. With a tear in my eye, I deleted all of my information I had supplied and was sorry I ever inquired about this site. At some point I casually confronted my girl about it, you knew I would! She claimed that she only filled out that stuff because she wanted to check on her husband and meant to delete it but must have forgotten. My girlfriend had a lot of trouble with telling the truth, as it turned out. Kind of like everything she ever told me was one sort of a lie or another. I learned and it only took me about 5 years!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">On a brighter note, something happened last week that reinforces why I love the people of Arizona. I bought some new batteries at The Home Depot for my key fob, the gizmo you use for unlocking your car doors. As I get older, I get blinder and never bring reading glasses anywhere almost ever. So I look at the selection and decide that the 2032's are perfect in size after opened my fob and looking. I buy them for less than $6 and take them home. To my surprise and only after using my glasses, I see that the one that came out of my fob has a groove around the edge of it and my new 2032's won't fit even a little! Damn! They really didn't cost enough to bother to return them, but since I have to go back to get the right ones, 2016's, I may as well get credit for the wrong ones, but they've been opened! I felt awful. The following day, I tape the old battery's package closed again and hope no one notices. I go to the return desk and the gentleman is the most helpful he can possibly be. I gave him a full 10 stars. He wants to go with me to the battery counter to help me, but the people lined up behind me would probably frown on that. I leave him and walk towards the battery section where another helpful employee asks if I'm finding everything I need. I ask him if he knows anything about the batteries and he accepts my challenge. We walk and I briefly tell him my problem. He asks for my fob and I give it to him thankfully (This guy has young eyes). He squints and says it calls for a 2016 and he grabs one off the rack and opens it and puts it inside my compromised fob. I thank him and he says, let's go see if it works, where are you parked? I point to my car that is pretty close and we approach my vehicle. He tries it and my doors open and my lights flash. I thank him emphatically and then say, it would be easy for my to get into my car now and thank you, but under the circumstances we have to go inside because I've never paid you for these batteries and smiled. (Get ready) He says, there's no charge for these, we're sorry for all the trouble you've had and the batteries are a present from Home Depot! A tiny tear forms in my eye, just a little one and I cannot believe my ears as I thank him for his excellent service. Can you believe it??? He turns and leaves and I'm NOT arrested in the parking lot!</span></div>
Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-32351753263521413932015-08-09T16:00:00.000-07:002015-08-09T16:00:34.304-07:00End of an Era and almost a Finger...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;">Today I had allowed for the dismantling of my not so trusty leaf blower that has aged right along with it's owner of over 23 years. I remember purchasing it at Home Depot before they were the mega giant of today. When the employees stayed there long enough for you to get to know them a little. The year was 1992 and I had just purchased my dream house in North Scottsdale and spent a small fortune on landscaping. I was obligated to maintain that landscaping, thus the purchase of my leaf blower. It was an electric one, so naturally I bought a 100 foot electric cord to go along with it and a spool for the cord. So, for 23 plus years the blower was part of the Fisher family and was used at least once a week for that period. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">At some point retirement raised it's smiling head and the leaf blower was badly in need of a rest, along with the operator. We retired to a rental house in the same general area, with way less landscaping to maintain however the backyard is loaded with fruit and nut trees that shed with every breeze. The problem was that the old leaf blower was enjoying retirement and didn't want to go back to work, even when prompted. So I took her apart and talked to her in a gentle understanding fashion and explained that it was just temporary. I'd say that this happened about 4 or 5 different times in the last 3 or 4 years. In the interim period, in order to perform my renters obligation, I borrowed my son's leaf blower, one of those gas motored fancy new jobs that I never was able to get started. He came over and started it for me and showed me how. You have to pull the cord about 20 to 30 times while adjusting the choke to the required position that has never been determined and recite a variety of swear words, all simultaneously. I suggested he take his blower home, that mine is a G rated yard.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So after all that, I decided to rake up my leaves and don't misunderstand me, there was a huge volume of leaves. Enough to completely fill the huge dumpster, so far 4 times! Plus, I'm raking leaves off of rocks and stones, so along with the leaves come the stones and today I decided to try to blow the stones back where they belong, so the project of dismantling the leaf blower became imminent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Although I've had this puppy apart several times, this time she was pretty stubborn, like asking a debutante to go camping. She must have fused herself together. (The blower, not the debutante) Now I'm pretty handy, all things considered. On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being a Chimpanzee and 10 being an accomplished handyman/plumber,I'm about a 2! I even tried prying her open after verifying that I had removed all of the 10 screws, but she snapped back and took the tip of my pinky along with her. Now I'm bleeding like a butchered hog and my priorities have changed. Clean up the blood and try to stop the bleeding, all the while thinking that the leaf blower's time has come and the very dumpster that she helped me fill with leaves, will be her final resting place. May she rest in pieces...</span>Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-39268119542982125332015-08-06T15:02:00.001-07:002015-08-06T16:12:32.220-07:00Rough Day at the Doctor's Office...<span style="font-size: large;">I seldom get into trouble with people, but sometimes you just have to stand up for yourself. I was in a bad mood to begin with. I had a 4 PM appointment with my cardiologist that I was sure, was just revenue builder for the medical organization as I had just been there 3 weeks earlier. After a 20 minute ride on the 101 in rush hour traffic, my exit at Indian School Road was closed for construction and I had to take Thomas Rd as an alternative route and the drivers on Thomas are a whole other thing. Rude cutter offers and cell phone talkers. I was literally taken aback watching some woman in a BMW cut off as many people as she could. This all builds an anxiety level to a peak. Arriving right on time, I check in and sit down. The office is almost empty with the exception of what appears to be a new patient filling out a lengthy questionnaire with his wife assisting him. Suddenly this fat woman about 60 plus years old, with bright yellow hair looks up from her work and says, Mel. Sitting about 8 feet in front of her I reply, yes. She holds up a 2 inch thick packet of papers that she wants me to fill out. I say to her, I'm not filling that out because I've been a patient here for 8 years and was just here 3 weeks ago and nothing has changed since then. She replies, "Everyone fills this out"! Again, I tell her, no, I'm not a new patient. Then she asks me who my primary care physician is. By this time I've walked over to her complaining that I had to get up for nothing. (See, she's pissed me off) I explain that I don't have a primary care physician and my insurance company doesn't require one, that I called a few weeks ago for another provider and it was verified. Then I said, apologetically, "Am I giving you a hard time?" She now yells, YES, and she doesn't appreciate it this late in the day! At the same volume I reply, ME TOO! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now it's been my experience that people that hold the job of receptionist are not required to hold any degrees or display a very high IQ, as displayed by my first wife, as that was her career for the 3 months after we got married until she got pregnant, then immediately retired to expectant mother, but I digress.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Just then, one of the girls from the inner office came out and motioned to me with a giant smile. I know and love this girl, she always plays with me when I'm there and legitimately seems to enjoy me, as I do her. I ask her if she can fire fat lady for me and she laughs and asks what happened. I briefly tell her, while she laughs and says I need to talk to the doctor to accomplish that. I think that by the time I left, I'd explained that I wanted fat yellow haired lady fired to everyone that worked there and they all agreed she had a bad attitude, but I'm sure nothing will be done about it because lets face it, everyone has a bad day! She's been there a long time and if I recall, she's the same lady that took care of my when I first started going there 8 years ago. I walked in and tried to check in. She asked me my name and after a couple of minutes, she looked up and said she has no record of me, do I go by another name? I said, yes, Madonna! Evidently, intelligence doesn't display itself in her family.</span>Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-35775039777604135762015-07-10T22:56:00.001-07:002015-07-11T12:11:19.588-07:00Does a Recliner have 9 Lives?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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She's Baaaack...<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Some time has now gone by since my psychopathic recliner tried to take my life. It sat around my living room in it's compromised condition until Monday, when I decided to take it down to the road for trash pick up. First it was the frame that took it's last walk down the driveway to oblivion, then I returned for the leather insert. As I lifted this expensive piece of leather that has been with me since 1992 when I purchased it at an upscale Scottsdale furniture store. The price of $500 comes to mind because remembering numbers is my game. In today's money market that would equal about $900 for this lovely piece of craftsmanship. I started thinking. This beautiful chair that I'm really very fond of and I have been together for 23 years and cruised through life together for many, many, emotional miles. I've had it welded on 2 different occasions. First for $50 and then soon after for $100. Why not give it one more reprieve? Putting down my hunk of burning love (the chair), I ask Siri if she knows of a welder here in Scottsdale and she immediately blurts out an answer. Paul's Mobile Welding and then she asked me if I wanted her to dial the number for me. I said, yes! Paul answered with a casual, hello and I got the impression that he was at home watching the Dr. Phil Show. I told him of my predicament and he told me that he gets $150 minimum for coming out. Laughing I told him that in that case, Old Bessie, the recliner is going to the curb! Paul then told me of a friend of his that has a shop at 25th St. and Bell that if I'm willing to go there, he'll do it while I wait. He even gave me the phone number, 602 867-2729. I called and Tex answered, Allstate Steel with an old country boy accent. He said his minimum was $32.50 and he gets $65 an hour. I thought how much could it be to weld a 1" pipe that broke?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">For me it was a straight shot up the 101, about 15 minutes total time. He was located behind the pawn shop that an old friend of mine formerly owned. I pulled in with no difficulty and Tex was just like his name suggests. Tall guy, about 6' 1" with a ten gallon hat and an accent from somewhere in Texas, maybe New Mexico. He was the owner and worked everyday of his life, or so it seemed. He operated out of an old trailer and was as friendly and warm as anyone I've ever met. He walked me outside to look for Ernesto, the welder. Only Ernesto was nowhere to be found. Tex said he must have gone home, can I leave it with him? Naturally I agreed and left him with my name and phone number. It was about 110 degrees and I was ready to get back into my air conditioned car. I left.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">That night I couldn't sleep. One of the many things on my mind was the fact that I never asked Tex, how much. I pictured him telling me that it took a lot longer than he figured and it was be a full $65. Then as the clock ticked away I thought, what if he claimed it took 2 full hours and he wanted $130. I should have asked him to commit to a price, what is wrong with me? I've been around long enough to know that you just don't trust a total stranger to be honest with you. What is this 1955? I finally fell asleep with the aid of a sleeping pill. The next day I waited for them to call and tell me it was ready but that never happened and I kind of forgot about it. I already had decided that if it was more than $65 I was going to tell him to just keep it or charge me a fair price.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Now it's Wednesday afternoon when I finally call. His assistant, probably his wife answers and I tell her my name and ask if my chair is ready. She says, yes! I take a deep breath and ask how much the damage is. She says, hold on while I look. My mind is going wild now. I'm preparing my dissertation for when she tells me it is $400! She comes back to the phone and says, $15. A tear forms in my eye, as it is while I write this and all I can say is, why? She replies, it didn't take very long. I begin to argue (stupid, stupid, stupid). I was told that there was a minimum of $32.50 for any work at all. She says, you'll have to talk to Tex. Embarrassed and ashamed I drive over there to pick up my old friend, Bessie. When I get there Tex is behind the counter along with the lady. She takes out an invoice and says, $15. I give her $20 and ask her to please keep the change. Tex hears this and hands me a $5 bill and asks me to go out back and please give the money to Ernesto. I do. When I return, they have already put the chair into my car and said goodbye. I immediately called my son Brad and asked him if he had anything that needed welding. He thought for a second and said, no. I told him to go break something!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It is so refreshing in this society to find someone in business who is still honest and old school. Tex explained it to me this way. He said, I've been in business a long time, I live a good lifestyle and I have everything I need and I do it by operating like this...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-78771994362345893672015-07-06T14:31:00.001-07:002015-07-06T19:45:06.887-07:00Suicide by Recliner...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Friday seemed like it was programmed against me. It started with a trip to the grocery story, one of my most hated tasks. I got married 3 different times, just so that I wouldn't have to do this hateful task, yet where do I wind up, just to eat? When I arrive home, I put one rack of ribs (on sale) in the freezer and leave the second one out to put on the grill. I light the grill and turn it to low and proceed to put my mouth watering rack in place and make a mental note to turn them in about 15 minutes. I remember and do it.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">About 10 minutes later the phone rings and it's my friend in Chicago calling for a little <span aria-haspopup="true" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" data-g-spell-status="3" id=":1i4.7" role="menuitem" tabindex="-1">FaceTime</span>. After talking for about 30 minutes and me completely forgetting that I have ribs on the grill, the door bell rings and it's 2 pretty young girls that want to sell me Century-Link. I introduce them both to Karen on the phone and they chat briefly, when I ask if they could possibly come back later while I finish my chat with Karen. The 21 year old girls leave. Karen and I complete our conversation and about a minute later, my son Brad calls. We laugh, we cry and we talk for about 25 minutes when I realize my ribs are on the grill, (I hope). I hang up and run outside to open my grill but see an unusual light glowing in the dark and it looks like there is a small fire inside of my grill. Yep, it is a fire and it's still ablaze! My ribs are wholly engulfed in flames!!! It turns out that my ribs left this planet a long time ago, this was just the memory of the ribs aflame. All carbon. I'm thinking maybe tuna for dinner...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I wrestle up a tuna sandwich and eat it while relaxing in my trusty old reclining chair, when suddenly I find my self laying backwards on the floor, wedged into the corner of the room with my chair blocking my escape route! I immediately think of Life Alert! "I've fallen and I can't get up." I think of calling 911 but I'm laughing too hard, I've never been kidnapped by a chair before and don't have a clue about protocol.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Somehow, while laughing like a baboon with my feet in the air, me on my back with the chair or what's left of it, blocking me into the corner, I somehow crawl out and get up to investigate how this happened. It seems that the base that the chair sits on snapped off and just dumped me in the direction of the least resistance, which was backwards. Just then there was a ding on my phone to indicate a message and it's some woman in Florida that wants to know how my day was going, <span aria-haspopup="true" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" data-g-spell-status="3" id=":1i4.8" role="menuitem" tabindex="-1">Grrrr</span>.....</span></div>
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Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-32701403453267288492015-06-23T20:38:00.001-07:002015-06-23T20:38:31.720-07:00She Should have Taken the Bus...<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">The image in my mind is as if it were yesterday. The year was 1999 and if anyone knew of the area in Phoenix, AZ referred to as Van </span><span aria-haspopup="true" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" data-g-spell-status="3" id=":n9.15" role="menuitem" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" tabindex="-1">Buren</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> Street, you recognized it as the area for prostitution, where drugs were available 24 hours a day, in addition to the ''buy here pay here" automobile cortex. I was in the automobile business and in order for me to maintain my business license, I was required to maintain an address within certain C-3 properties in this specified area. Therefore, I introduce to you, AIRPORT ENTERPRISES. Yours truly was the president and CEO. My property included an office along with a 3 car garage that I referred to as the compound. To remain within the law, I had to maintain at least 3 cars at the location, which I did. Right down the street from me was </span><span aria-haspopup="true" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" data-g-spell-status="3" id=":n9.16" role="menuitem" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" tabindex="-1">Maaco</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">, that was owned and operated by a friend of mine, where I also had a lot cars repainted, if they needed it? One day while waiting to pull out into traffic from </span><span aria-haspopup="true" class="J-JK9eJ-PJVNOc" data-g-spell-status="3" id=":n9.17" role="menuitem" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" tabindex="-1">Maaco</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">, I was forced to respond to a street walker that approached me and plainly asked me if she she could perform oral sex on me? I mean I was waiting to make a left! Not knowing what to respond, I simply and briefly answered that, "No sorry, I just had some!" With a confused look on her face, I pulled away, glad to have a break in traffic.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So one day around 5 PM, I'm leaving my office, that by the way, was in a gated parking lot and I pull out past the gate into the driveway and wait to make a left turn. Now to my left is a public bus stop along with an overhang covering a bench and lots of people waiting to go home . In order to see past these people to see if traffic is coming, I'm inching forward to catch a glimpse. Just a little more and I'll be able to see. As soon as I can actually see, there is a break in traffic and I hit the gas to execute my left turn, but as soon as I hit the gas, I feel something as if I've hit something and sure enough a lady walked in front of my car and I knocked her clear into the second lane of traffic! Fortunately, there was no one coming and she got up off of the ground, walked up to my red 1993 Jeep Grand Cherokee and started pounding her 2 fists onto my hood! After doing that, she looked at me and yelled, "You should be more careful, that was close!" Meanwhile, I thinking, "CLOSE", that was a direct hit! I was already picturing her in my 3500 Square foot home in North Scottsdale and floating in my pool, with my red Corvette in the garage that she only uses on weekends, "CLOSE?" As soon as I looked into her eyes, I realized what I was dealing with. Her eyes were glazed and she was threadbare, like a homeless person. She was so thin that her legs looked like sticks coming out of the leg holes of her shorts. She was stoned out of her gourd! She continued walking down the street and exited the scene. I gave her the obligatory 10 count, 2-4-6-8-10 and split! That was CLOSE alright! I was still shaking when I got home...</span></div>
Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-51012613480349820902015-06-11T21:49:00.001-07:002015-06-12T22:33:39.879-07:00As the World Turns...<span style="font-size: large;">Well it turns out that what I've believed most of my life is true. I am part American Indian. Here is how I've determined that. I've never grown a beard before. I've always wondered how I'd look with one, but for one reason or another it's just never been opportune to grow one until now. I cleared my schedule just for the growing period, a very delicate time. So I just went about 2 weeks without shaving and learned that I not only don't look good with a full beard, but cannot even grow a decent beard, similar to the American Indians. What did grow was tacky, patchy, and different colors running between silver, gray, and white in places with a dark brown memory of my more youthful days. Days left behind, I'm afraid. So my theory is to do what you know how to do, so I left a mustache and goatee that I knew I could handle well. After 2 weeks of being accused of being homeless, not to mention the constant itching, I finally abandoned my hairy face and accepted my destiny as an American Indian. Chief Harry Chin.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A strange thing happened a few nights ago. I was leisurely lying in bed reading a horrible book, when I received notice from a dating service that I had a message from a potential mate. Rather excitedly, I opened my mail to see it was from a woman that I had communicated with about a year ago and for one reason or another we just stopped chatting. Actually I remembered her well. She's attractive, the same religion as I, Jewish and resides in France. After exchanging a few emails, we spoke on the phone for 2 and 1/2 hours and she turned out to be quite nice and we're supposed to speak again. She has a package with her phone company that allows her to call the states for free, so I kind of feel like the fat chick waiting for the phone to ring, a week before prom. She's in charge of scheduling. Here's something even stranger, her mother's maiden name is the same as my last name, Fisher, so we may be cousins! Don't worry, we're not planning on having children, not yet anyway...</span>Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-54850456584525385322015-05-31T16:09:00.000-07:002015-05-31T16:09:04.849-07:00Why I Despise Online Dating...<span style="font-size: large;">I haven't posted anything for a really long time. What, with making smart Alec remarks on Facebook and keeping myself alive, who's got time? When I say, "Keeping myself alive", don't misunderstand, as currently I have no health issues, but I refer to the dreaded grocery shopping and making sure my underwear don't have holes in them. You know, just everyday living. I haven't done much of the online dating thing, because I just figure, what for? I recently found a cute 50 year old, shapely lady with a quick wit, that I thought was going to be a relationship, when on our first date disclosed to me that she had slept with over a hundred men while in her 20's, sometimes 2 and 3 in a night. That's what you call a boner killer!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I got weak one evening and wrote a note to a woman that lives in Scottsdale and although she is 66, she looked youthful and very much 21st century. I've recently been speaking with a woman in Chicago that is 67 and looks and acts very youthful, so why should I limit myself to only women in their 50's? So late Friday night, at about 1 AM, I wrote to this lady and said, Would you be interested in meeting an old man like me? When I awakened on Saturday, there was a reply that said, Absolutely and offered me her phone number. I held onto the number until about 7:30 Saturday night and called. This is how it went:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Her name is Susan,</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Me: Hello, is this Susan from the dating service?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Susan: No!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Me: (Not accepting that answer because cell phones don't dial incorrectly when you enter the number correctly ), This is Mel from Plenty of Fish!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Susan: This is a really bad time, try me again, and clicked off... ending my call.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is another reason that I truly miss the old cradle phones, because I used to love to slam the phone down eliminating a lot of anxiety. With the iPhone, you're not afforded that luxury. All you have is the "end" button. I think there should be an app that offers the sound of a slamming phone, (but that's another post...)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I took my phone away from my face and verbally said a WTF? I think I let about 3 minutes go by when I realized I needed revenge, so I texted her, "THAT WAS JUST RUDE!" and her reply was, "WELL I'M ON A DATE, WHAT DID YOU EXPECT? I replied my last and very final communication, "MORE THAN THAT!''</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here is my thinking, if I'm on a date and I receive a call from a number that I don't recognize, I simply let the call go to voicemail. If I do answer it, which is rude on a date, if it's not one of your children calling, I am polite and explain the situation and offer to return the call at a more opportune time. This whole thing told me a lot about Susan. That she's too dumb to rock and roll and do I want someone that inept in my life at any level? Current rant over!</span>Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-54831396275251022702015-04-19T16:46:00.000-07:002015-04-19T16:46:47.223-07:00Peeing in the Sink...<div class="" id=":127" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-bottom: 5px;">
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>I found this old email I sent to a friend in 2006 and I laughed a few times reading it...</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Sent:</b> Saturday, May 27, 2006 5:54 PM</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Subject:</b> Toilet Shopping is a Lot of CRAP! aka <span class="">Peeing</span> in the <span class="">Sink</span>...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;">This is extremely loooog, so if you don't read it all, I'll understand..</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Do wealthy, well to do people, shop for their own toilets? Somehow I can't picture it that way. The Bentley pulls up in front of Home Depot and the chauffeur gets out, walks around and opens the door for a gentleman that is dressed in a black business suit, dark with pinstripes, a crisp Derby and spats. The remote doors of the giant hardware store swing open and the gentleman walks to the commode department, politely asking directions from a guy named Bubba. Once there, he makes a selection and has his chauffeur put the brand new toilet into a shopping cart and he wheels it to the cashier where he stands in line and is insulted and assaulted by other shoppers. He goes home in his Bentley after checking his supply of Grey Poupon and has Heathcliff carry the toilet into the shitter where he tells Heathcliff to install it or he calls a plumber..</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">It didn't go that well for me! I was sitting there on the throne, thinking about my day's activities and I reached back and gave old Clyde a flush. Clyde's flusher was a little stiff for some reason so I pushed it a little harder and heard an unfamiliar noise from the flushing device. That noise, as I so delicately described it, was more of a click, kind of like the noise a porcelain tank might make if it was cracking. The first clue was the water on the floor.. I cracked him good! That little flush was one flush too many for old Clyde, he quit on me, right there, it was over! We had been partners for almost 14 years and he's gone! I now knew what I was going to do today. I was going to shop for and install a toilet, but not just any toilet, Clyde's replacement.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I decided to take a shower and head to Home Depot, then I remembered what my plans were for the day and decided a tooth brushing was all I'd need. I think it's wasteful to shower and then devote your day to being elbow deep in a toilet. I figured the shower could wait until afterwards.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">When I got to Home Depot, I was a little disappointed to see how proud they were of their toilets. Those things are from about a hundred bucks all the way up to about $500 and they all do the same thing. I don't think anyones gonna leave my house thinking gee, that Mel Fisher sure has a nice toilet, right? Perhaps a mid line product would be best. I approached the first employee, but evidently he was deaf, because the louder I'd yell "Excuse me, sir" the faster he would walk in the other direction towards the break-room. I almost took off my shoe and threw it at him, but decided not to. The next guy I talked to was about 5' 2" and the reason that I mentioned his height was because he must have had a complex over it, because he decided it was his job to make me feel like the dumbest weekend plumber in captivity. First he asked me what brand of toilet I was looking for. I WAS going to tell me TopShit, but decided to play it cool. I told him I had a Koeler or something like it. He said, then all you need is the top tank? I said, yes. I really didn't know you could buy just the top tank, but again, I'm stupid. He told me that if he gives me this adjustment kit, they will all fit. Oh, I was pleased. I took my new top tank and my little kit to the cashier and they told me that the salesman is not allowed to give away adjustment kits and I had to pay for it. I insisted he give it to me, because that's what the salesman said. The cashier finally agreed to wave to $2 charge.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">So, I lugged this top tank into the house and take a look and I don't have a Koeler toilet at all, it's a Crane Miser. So, I was starved and had to eat something before I could go on. I take the top tank back to the return desk and stand in line for about 20 minutes. I finally get my card credited and go back to Shorty and tell him I didn't have a Koeler toilet, afterall, it's a Crane. Shorty makes a "you are dumber than dog shit" face and says, that's why I GAVE you that adjustment kit. It works on a Crane too! I tried to tell Shorty that the cashiers tried to sell it to me, but he was mad already and I was afraid he'd yell at me. I went back to the return desk and got back in line and repurchased my Koeler top tank. The credit card company is going to look at this month's statement twice, lemme tell ya. I lug the tank home again, Bogie starts asking questions, but I give him the cold shoulder. I now extract the top tank from it's packaging, which takes an engineer to do and I take one look at this thing and there is NO FUCKING WAY it's ever gonna fit my toilet bottom. It was like putting a square into a circle. The top had 3 screws and the bottom had 2 holes. If I removed the wall between the living room and the bathroom, I might have been able to make it work...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Now, it's back to Home Depot, get back in line, by now the returns lady was making faces at me, she knew what was coming. By now we were old friends and she asked me what happened, but I didn't feel like talking. I told her I was going to Lowe's and headed over there! Screw Shorty! He was compensating for his height by acting like he knew what he was doing,,,,,,, he didn't!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I drove the 3 miles to Lowe's and was unpleasantly surprised to see it was a shabby, not as well lit, Home Depot. The layout was more difficult to navigate and they kept their toilets fairly well hidden. I interrupted 3 or 4 employees that were having a social moment to ask for directions to the shitters. They politely offered me an, "End of the isle, turn right" and went back to discussing the Sun's game. Now I know where the employees from Home Depot go when they get out on parole... The general atmosphere was one of a sleazy bar on the wrong side of town, but was missing the pool table.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Lowe's does carry Crane Toilets, so I WAS in the right place. Now, I needed an employee to help me. Here's a problem that nobody ever thinks about. Their selection of toilets is about 5 to 15 feet above the ground. They're displayed on the actual shelves that go as high as 30 feet in the air. How does a guy test drive one, if you will? I just spent 14 years of my life sitting on Clyde and all of that is well and good, but before I drop about $300 for a new toilet I want to sit on it and see that it's comfortable. I could see that wasn't going to happen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I saw a salesman that was dutifully waiting on a woman in the bathroom fixture department and I waited politely for him to become available, when I realized there was another man waiting to see him too. I decided to look for my own sales person. I found a tattooed cover little guy with two front teeth missing and asked if he knew anything about the toilets. Without answering, he walked away and I followed him. He stood looking high into the air and I couldn't see what he was looking at. I approached a little closer and as I came around the corner, I could see he was politely waiting to talk to a man that was about 30 feet in the air on the business end of a scissor lift. I waited about 30 seconds too and finally asked if they had another one of those lifts available, so I could go up and ask him about the toilet. No response! Now the toothless guy started talking, finally. He told me there were only 2 people that knew anything about toilets, the guy that was 30 feet up and the guy that was busy with the lady. He asked if I had tried up there and he pointed to the front of the store? I was losing patience quickly and told him I didn't want to make a career out of finding someone to talk to there about toilets and left... Dejected and rejected, I left and went home to a bathroom with no toilet and a future of <span class="">peeing</span> in the <span class="">sink</span>!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I was literally bushed! Four visits to Home depot and Lowe's wiped me out. I went home and napped on the sofa and tried to figure out a plan for today.. I decided to start with a shower and go from there. There is still Ace and Lowe's again, now that I know that they carry Crane toilets!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="">Peeing</span> in the <span class="">sink</span>, day 2....</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Today I opted for the shower, why not? I must have been exhausted yesterday because I literally slept like a baby. Zoie came to me at about 3:30 AM and I just told her to go back to bed and she did. Whew! I had a busy night last night. I knew I HAD to see the finale' of LOST and it was a 2 hour LOST, but I wanted to see the grand winner of American Idol too, not to mention the Suns were playing the Dallas Mavs in game one of a 7 game series for the finals. I accomplished it all, but not without a lot of finger action on my remote. Remind me to change the batteries, I'm sure I wore them out. All 3 shows were GREAT, if you didn't see American Idol, you really missed a good show? Same thing with LOST and the Suns won by 3 points, all in the last 4.5 seconds, a real nail biter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Back to business. I'm the guy with a hole in the floor where there is supposed to be a toilet. Today, I let my fingers do the walking. I called Lowe's and asked for the toilet department and girl answered the phone and I asked for someone that knew a lot about toilets and she hung up on me, literally. I called back and spoke with a guy named Bob. Bob asked me what the serial number was on my toilet, the one I already threw into the trash and the truck had already picked up. Things were not going well for me. I did keep the tank lid, though and luck went in my favor, because that's where the serial number that he needed was. Whoops, bad luck again. Bob called me back after calling the Crane factory to tell me that my toilet isn't made anymore, booooo... Then he asked me what size my roughin was. Huh? What's a roughin? It's the distance from the bolts that hold your toilet down, to the wall behind it. All they carry is a 12' roughin, for a 10' roughin, I need to call the Depot. That's what they call Home Depot at Lowe's, THE DEPOT!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I went to the Depot and went right to the toilet department and was glad to see that Shorty wasn't there. I might have punched him right in the eye.. that bastard! Instead I found an African woman there that was VERY helpful and she didn't intimidate me. She said, look! You want you a toilet that does the job in one flush, right? I gots teenage boys and here's the one that we use at home and it don't leave nuthin in the bowl when you is done. That's for me, I said. I'll take it! I muscled it off the shelve and it was no easy feat. Those things must weigh a hundred pounds and that's just the base. she said here's 2 packages of Bee's wax and this way you don't have to worry about leaks! That's for me too, I HATE leaks! I asked her if it cam equipped with seat belts for beer drinkers, she didn't laugh. I carried this stuff to the cashier and she rang me up and I went home with my new toilet and to begin my installation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">First I had to take out the old base, that went pretty well, even the part where I had to clean up the old bee's wax. They actually use bee's wax to seal the toilet to the floor.. Barry called and told me I was an idiot for even trying this and we talked for about 30 minutes. I went back to the job and sweat and worked and shoved things where they needed to go and I was just about finished when I realized I would be able to fit the new toilet under the counter where it goes, but not the LID. The toilet I bought was about an inch too high to fit in the space where it has to go. I washed my hands real good and made lunch, it was almost 2 PM and I was starved and still needed to remove my recently installed toilet. Oh, woe is me..</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Stay tuned for Day three of <span class="">peeing</span> in the <span class="">sink</span>...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Good morning. This is day three and after a night of interrupted sleep, I awakened rather early for me, as I have the illegals coming this morning. Just 2 weeks ago they were the cleaning ladies and with the influx of the press, Taylor Hicks winning the American Idol, they quickly became the "illegals".. In my mind, I toyed with the idea of asking them if they had green cards and doing what the law suggests and firing them, but then who would clean the house? On that topic, let me ask you this. If you were really thirsty and there was no water to drink where you were and someone drew an imaginary line and across that line there was lots of water for the taking, would you cross that line? I know how the illegals are taking out lettuce picking jobs and how the American tax payer is being raped for supporting illegals with our taxes, but would you rather your money went to a group of people wanting to work, or to the war effort in Iraq? Besides, Bogie and Zoie love them and want to spend all of their time with them. I think Bogie is learning Spanish.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I'm trying to get psyched up to make my 383736 trip the the Depot for my farcockda toilet. Wait until my illegals get to the downstairs bathroom and there is no toilet to clean. I'm going to ask for a discount!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I just got back from the Depot where we had a big meeting. I started asking this older guy, my age, for some help and he made the mistake of asking a younger guy a question about some detail and everything went up for grabs. The two of them got into a heated argument over who was right on some detail, a SKU number of all things. I got frustrated and just left. No toilet, no hopes of a toilet, but a tip that the store at Cave Creek and Bell has 2 of the ones I want. I asked if they could just transfer one to this store, but was told the Depot frowns on that. So, I just paid the illegals and am off the new Depot for my throne!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I arrived at this new Depot with bells on. I noticed that because this is NOT as good a neighborhood as mine, the prices were a little higher. I approached a recent parolee and asked if he knew anything about toilets and he answered, "Just using them", and then busted out laughing like he had just thought of a great joke. I can't tell you how irritating it was. I moved on and found the toilet department by myself. An elderly African American man, about 65 was the guy to get a hold of, I was told and got lucky, because just then he walked by and I tackled him. He was very polite and knowledgable. Just one thing. The first thing out of his mouth was that he just finished looking for that toilet for another customer and there weren't any. It turns out that there is ONLY one toilet in the world that I can use at my house and wouldn't you know it, I wasn't the first guy there? Otis checked the inventory and said he should have had 2 units in stock and can't imagine why that is, when there are clearly none around here, but the store at Cave Creek and Cactus has 18 of them! Without a word I ran out the front door, to my toilet ready GREEN van and hopped in and buckled up for my trip to Store 346, Cave Creek and Cactus! The GREEN van actually peeled rubber as I took off on my mission. I arrived at my destination, only after putting on my diguise, a mustache and plumber's beard and nonchalantly walked to the toilet section whistling, not wanting to bring any unwanted attention to myself. Oddly, my body semi-floated to the toilet section, like it knew where to go. When I got there, there was an aura around a pile of toilets and they were the pile of 6276-0's, the elongated white bowl that goes with the 3324-0 super saver tanks! Not saying a word about the price being $40 more at this store, than the one in my neighborhood, I muscled the 100 LB devil into my cart and made my way to the cashier.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">My cashier was smoking! She actually had a cigarette lit, but don't worry, she had her hand pointed in the direction of the front door that was closed and at least 30 feet away from her. She looked at me and explained that she's supposed to be on break now, but they're short on help because Mary called in. I smiled and said, no problem... Biting my lip, I paid the inflated price, even though I knew if I'd said something, they may have brought the manager in on the deal to screw things up. Afterall, I had my 6276-0 and was ready for installation!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">By the time I got home, I was exhausted and waited a couple of hours before I even unloaded the unit from my GREEN van. About 5 PM, after feeding the dogs, I began the installation and by now it went pretty smoothly, afterall, I've done this before.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Guess what? I was to the part where I connect the top tank to the bottom bowl and realize that there wasn't a parts bag in my toilet bowl. I didn't have any of the hardware necessary to complete the job. After all of the toilets that I've opened and conscientiously put all of the parts back into before returning them, mine was missing the parts! Tomorrow, day 5 of<span class="">peeing</span> in the <span class="">sink</span>, I'll go back to the Depot where I'm friends with all of the guys and beg for a parts bag!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><span class="">Peeing</span> in the <span class="">Sink</span>, Day 5...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">I slept well, after going to bed early. I was just beat. Installing toilets can leave you wiped, aye? I went down to make some coffee and while I waited for the coffee to brew, I fell back to sleep for 90 minutes, what's up with that? The coffee not only brewed, but cool down and shut itself off. Oh well, such is the life of a bum. I leaped up the 19 stairs to the shower, full of energy and showered for my trip to the Depot. I was really starting to miss those guys over there. When I got there, there was the old guy from yesterday and he not only remembered me, but seemed glad to see me and find out the outcome of my adventure. He quickly remedied everything by giving me a package of parts and walked me out the door so the alarm wouldn't go off on me, as I hadn't paid for the parts. I went home and quickly installed the toilet and turned on the water supply. Holy shit, it was flooding, indicating I hadn't tightened down the screws hard enough. You don't want to tighten them too much, breaking the porcelin parts. The trick is to do it just right. A few more turns of my wrench and I accomplished that. Second test drive and it was dry as a bone. Mission accomplished... Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Total time doing the replacement, 5 minutes. Total time running around and looking for the correct toilet and parts, 5 days..</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: medium;">Mongo the wrench...</span></div>
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Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-60364864421523400152015-04-14T22:17:00.001-07:002015-04-14T22:17:21.698-07:00Walking the Costco Mile...<span style="font-size: large;">After procrastination about doing a Costco run for about 3 weeks, I finally broke down and went to the Paradise Valley location, which is farther, but has the good Rye bread. In addition, it doesn't offer the crowds of aggressive pushy people that frequent the Scottsdale location. I think you know what I refer to. High dollar cars using 2 parking places, people running into your heels from behind, looking at you as if you've inconvenienced them. We used to call them jerks but I choose a more aggressive word ending in "hole".</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Proud of my parking place I enter the big box giant and smile at the cute girl that is supposed to be checking membership cards but is just using her smile to welcome customers. I prefer it that way. My goal is to purchase things to eat, because last week I bought 4 T-shirts at Target to get me through the summer, completing my summer 2015 wardrobe selections. I start throwing things into my cart like breakfast sausage, chopped lettuce that I'll throw away in 10 days unopened, eggs in the 18 packs, (I didn't throw them) some kind of frozen Chinese chicken, asparagus, grapes, sliced roast beef, ice cream and a bunch of other stuff that escapes me currently. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">After doing my share of people watching, always a favorite at Costco, I head to the cashier's section that by chance was not busy. It was 3:30 in the afternoon on a Monday (mark that down). I carefully unload my cart and placed everything on the conveyor belt when the young girls asks me for my Costco card. With a smile I reach into my back pocket and unexpectedly feel my ass! What? Where is my wallet? A personal panic strikes me and it shows on my face, when the girls says, no card? I-I-I left my wallet at home, I changed into these shorts at the last minute and remember leaving my wallet on the table next to my bed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Always the salesman, I tell the girl that I've been a member since 1985 when it was Price Club and can't she just look up my membership number. The young girl panics and calls a supervisor, (I switch to my supervisor hat) She approaches and the cashier tells her that I don't have my Costco card, can we just look up his ID number? The supervisor says yes, sure, then looks at me and asks, how will you be paying for your purchase? GAME OVER!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The boss lady, ever sympathetic, explains that she can save my accumulated items for me until I return with my wallet, while sounding like a little kid that just got told no more playing, you've had enough for today, I ask, what about my ice cream? She assures me that they'll put it in the freezer for me if I promise to come right back. Feeling like a 10 year old that just got scolded, I left the store mumbling stuff, empty handed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Aware of the traffic that has gotten heavy on the way home, I decide to wait until after rush hour to go back. At about 7 PM, I try it once again, travelling in cool breezy 80 degree temperatures. I enter and explain to the friendly greeter that I just had my first senior moment today and briefly explained my dilemma. She yells in the opposite direction, GET THE BAND! I crack up with her and she calls Sara to investigate as to whether or not they still have my things put away. I enter and look for Sara. In my estimation, Sara is a big chunky girl with a very serious attitude. All she says to me is to wait over there and points to a shopping cart blocking the next cashier's position. After about 10 minutes of feeling like a penny waiting for change, a little girl comes up to Sara and whispers something into her ear. I'm sure she's the abandoned shopping cart girl, yet no one says anything to me. I leave my assigned position and approach Sara again and this time she wears her chastising face and explains that I did wait an awfully long time to come back and everything was returned to stock. I just stared at Sara for a time and explained that this entire thing was my fault and I appreciate all of the trouble everyone has gone to, to accommodate me, (just to replenish Sara's faith in humanity) Way down deep I was really thinking SHIT!</span>Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-14231110291740595702015-04-11T22:40:00.001-07:002015-04-11T22:40:06.993-07:00I Want to be 39!<span style="font-size: large;">While strumming along on Facebook today, I couldn't help but notice it was "Sibling's Day", who knew? I really don't have any siblings anymore, aside from a an older brother in a Chicago suburb that I haven't spoken to in over 40 years and a deceased younger brother that passed away in 1989, rendering me an only child, but who ever heard of a 69 year old child? Now all of this gibberish brings to the topic of my story tonight. Two of the girls that I went to high school with were twins and they posted a picture of themselves and about age 18. I clicked on one's profile and noticed that she was friends with an old friend and neighbor of mine, Jeff Stein. Jeff's family lived directly behind our house and he was my same age. I recall when we were about 10 years old, a bunch of us built a fort in the vacant lot next door to his house and his father helped us. I even remember his address of 8424, mine was 8423 on the street behind his. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The thing that stands out the most in our relationship was, while walking back to school one day after our lunch hour, I made a remark about something my mother told me and he replied that my mother was a liar! Whoa! That's one thing that's not allowed insulting a 7th grader's mother out loud and in front of other kids. Doing so would earn you a punch in the jaw, which without even thinking about it, I supplied! He retaliated and we were off into a brawl. I don't think our friendship withstood that insult and I don't think we ever spoke again after that day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">So I clicked on his name and there he was with a picture that all I had to do was add about 58 years to and sure enough there were his eyes, that don't really change and a receding hairline, which is to be expected. I remember that he was an avid sports fan and he made the basketball team in freshman year. Upon investigation, I saw that he had written a book about or relating to sports and strategies. That's when I saw it and wondered if I had the right guy, because it said his birthday was April 26th, exactly one month after mine but the year he was born said 1961. I was born in 1946 and I knew we were the same age! I must say, he looked great for 69 and I figured it out. He used an old picture to advertise his book, probably thinking it would be more marketable with a younger author. I know that you can legally change your name and certainly your religion, but your age too?</span>Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-29193337655752057722015-03-09T22:28:00.000-07:002015-03-09T22:31:15.676-07:00Great News came Today by Special Courier<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>I haven't written very much of late, mostly because nothing worthy has really happened, however today was a little different. I happen to have the distinction of having been kicked off of Match.com twice now and neither time was really my fault. I'll describe the situations to the best of my ability. </b></span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First was several years ago, when some woman from Texas kept drunk writing to me. First, I have no interest in anyone who is living in Texas, period. I ignored the first time and then I politely asked her to cease as I wasn't interested in a long distance relationship. I didn't explain this part to her, but she was also butt ugly! That didn't seem to deter her so after the 5th email, I wrote to her that I thought when viewing her picture, that I spotted some leftover make up in her wrinkles from 1959! Well, that's all it took and I was quickly relieved of my paid membership from Match, with a letter from them that the purpose of Match was to be nice to other members and my email was surely not nice. My membership was about over anyway, so I didn't contest it. Being a member of such a website is almost like a full time job and I was about ready to retire anyhow.</span></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fast forward about 5 years and while under the influence of Ambien, as outlined in a previous post, I couldn't sleep one night and fell victim to my desires and joined up again. Included in the many emails I received from the 60 to 80 group (I was considered "young stuff"), I had several emails that were kind of rude, when I didn't reply to their initial email attempts, but remembering their policy, just chose to delete them and move on. For your convenience, I'm going to post my profile on this posting so you can appreciate what I'm referring to:</span></span></b><br />
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<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">"I'm looking for someone to share the good and the not so good. Someone to share with, someone to call when something great happens. Someone of comparable IQ. Because frankly, aside from chemistry, intelligence is paramount. Oh and honesty. That's all...</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">I find that I'm able to achieve a more youthful look by using older pictures... </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">Let me start by saying that I spend most of my time, just trying to look like my pictures! </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">I'm originally from the Chicago area, but have been here in the valley for 40 years. It doesn't take much to make me happy. I'm relaxed and easy going, always seeing the brighter side of things. Maybe you can answer a question for me? Why is it that I keep making dates with Kate Hudson and winding up with Betty White? I'm looking for the last love of my life, someone who is cute, thin to average in weight and attractive to me. Honesty is paramount for my relationship. My favorite part of a woman's anatomy is her mind. I enjoy quick-witted, energetic exchanges with a bright woman. I believe in practicing the manners I was taught as a child in everyday living. I believe that women should have doors opened for them as well as their chair pulled out. It's all about respect. I'm in search of a partner in life, not just a date. I read and enjoy writing on occasion, nothing professional, just for personal satisfaction. I'm family oriented and would rather play with grandchildren than hang out in a bar. I retired about 8 years ago from a career in business and was a fairly well known Notary Public, having witnessed a lot of unusual things!I used to dance, but have recently been told I look like Elaine from Seinfeld, when I try. When I first signed up on this site, it asked me what body type I was. Aren't there really only 2 body types male and female??? </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">It seems that the longer people are on this venue, the longer their profiles get. If you're into NASCAR, buy Gizmos off of TV for $19.95 plus shipping and handling, we probably are not a match. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;">Personal Pet Peeve: People who dance on their way to the dance floor."</span></i><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #323232; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>With that listed, I received an email from some woman and it was just plain rude. I'm currently 68 years old and with God willing I'll turn 69 this month. So the woman writes something to the effect that, what would Kate Hudson want with an old man like me? There were other insulting things, too. I tried to access their website to list the exact email, but I'm blocked. So instead of arguing with her and telling her what I really thought, I went to a website that listed remedies for menopausal symptoms and sent them to her!</b></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #323232; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>I then received another insulting email and she talked about how now I was insulting all women and humanity. I replied with a simple email that read, "Just P--- off"! That's all it took, she reported me to management and I was again ousted. This all happened in October and my membership was to expire the first of December and I wasn't going to rejoin. On the third of December, I received a notice from Match.com that my membership is being canceled AND that they have charged my credit card for another 6 months to the tune of $108.00. I went mini-ballistic! My first reaction was to contact them and explain how unjust this was, but in their email it said that they would not discuss their decision unless by subpoena of a court. So I contacted my credit card company and listened while some woman giggled while I told her the whole story. Today in the mail (and I lied about special courier), their decision came and they decided in my favor! Hooray!!! I won't be joining Match.com again!</b></span></span></span><br />
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<br />Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2958539800206731902.post-72249596353640276832015-02-24T19:38:00.000-08:002015-02-24T19:38:41.145-08:00Dr. Donald G. Cunningham of Scottsdale Needs to Retire!<h2>
<span style="font-size: large;">In need of a primary care physician, I contacted my insurance company and asked for them to refer me one of their participating doctors, if only to prescribe Ambien, as at my age sleep is sometimes unattainable. I was given the good doctors contact information and I called to make an appointment which took place in early February this year. I arrived a little early as I knew that I'd have to fill out all of the paperwork and spent about 45 minutes doing so. I was weighed, measured and escorted into a private examination room where I waited another 30 minutes or so. Finally, and I was actually thinking about leaving, this guy enters and introduces himself and that was the only time we made physical contact. He shook my hand. He seated himself about 10 feet away and read through my application asking me to confirm the information. I told him about my heart and kidney situation and he asked if I needed any prescriptions refilled. I told him, just Ambien and he said okay, to wait here. I waited another 15 minutes and again was about to leave and ask WTF, when a man came in and escorted me to the blood letting room, where I was again asked to patiently wait They drew blood and I was asked to pee in a cup and as I was about to leave, I was taken by the arm to another desk where I was to schedule yet another appointment, which is a lot of care for a guy feeling great. I asked why I needed to make another appointment and was told, so that I could get the results of the blood work, like they could be bothered to call me, right? That's when I stopped arguing, realizing it was just to generate more revenue for the doctor. I was fully planning on canceling that appointment, but would only be asked to reschedule, so today was that appointment, whew!</span></h2>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I was speaking with an old friend and listening to a rather interesting story when I looked up at the clock and realized I was running late. Begging my exit, I quickly changed clothes and jumped into the car to reach the doctor's office about 5 minutes late. There was not another soul in the waiting room when I sat on their rather worn out chairs, purposely sitting towards the front of the chair to avoid sitting square on the stained part. I was texting with a friend when I was immediately called by the nurse or whoever she was and asked to climb on the scale. That's when she told me I was not allowed to use my phone in their office. I only laughed and continued. I was taken to my private room that was literally freezing by the way and the doctor entered with his head down and looking at what I assumed was my personal file. He looked up and without saying hello, blurted out that I was non-compliant! "Non-compliant, non-compliant, non-complaint"! I asked what he was talking about, naturally and he then screamed at me, yellow slip, yellow slip, yellow slip! As if that meant something to me. About 10 days after my first appointment, when I awakened, there was a voice mail from one of his employees giving me the names of a nephrologist, a cardiologist and a dermatologist. I'm completely satisfied with my current nephrologist and my cardilogist and the dermatologist that he referred me to was a 2 star doctor in the area of patient satisfaction, with many listed complaints! Why would I choose a dermotologist that was 76 years old, that was a proven loser? (I neglected to mention that I had a small cyst in my earlobe that's been there for 40 years or more).</span><span style="font-size: large;">So this guy is literally screaming at me that if I'm not going to try to take care of myself and follow up with his doctors, then he's not going to treat me! I yell back that I have an appointment with my cardiologist for 3/14 and I'm in touch with my nephrologist (kidney specialist) on a regular basis. That's when he told me that my BUN was 36 and I'm dying from kidney failure and that since 1/1/15 my insurance company will not allow my current doctors. For some reason, all of my life I was under the impression that doctors are honest and will not lie to a patient, but this monkey changed my opinion on that. That's when he point toward the door and said to get out! I yelled after him that he was an idiot and left. Frankly, he didn't look like much of a fighter! Tomorrow my intention is to report to at least the insurance company. Why should anyone else suffer his wrath?</span></b>Things I Left Behindhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12144836171882160178noreply@blogger.com0