Born in the Wrong Family...

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.

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!

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...

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...

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!

To be continued, someday...

8423 N. St. Louis, Skokie, Illinois

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.

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. 

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...

I've Got to get Smarter or Find a Wife...

                   Eight inch frying pan on top of my dumpster.

Today's topic is fried food. I'm never going to cook it or eat it again. Here's my story...

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. 

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!

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.

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!

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.

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.)

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. 

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!

Southwestern Eye Center Debacle (disaster)...

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?

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. 

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.

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? 

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...

Zelda Zass

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. 

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! 

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?"

Passing the Baton...

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.

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. 

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?"

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!

There was a happy ending to this story because when the waiter came with the check, he handed it to Brad!

Fiasco number 28,293...

Fiasco number 28,293 brought to you by United healthcare.

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? 

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!

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!

Along came Karen...

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!

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 Feldman 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!

One Saturday afternoon we made a date to go to the movies in downtown Evanston 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-tauter, 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 loogie 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 loogie 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! 

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.

And that's how I finally learned to be cool!

United Health (doesn't) Care...

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 ..... 

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.

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. 

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!

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?

The Intricacies of Online Dating...

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!

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.

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.

A Blast from the Past...

Middle of Feb 2005, home a few days.

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 you know how long you'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, "You 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.

Now it was time to try to recreate the past 2 weeks...

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!

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.

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 you 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 you 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.

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 whathappened. 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?

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..

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.

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!

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 thathappened 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.

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, youread 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 ever told.

Let's discuss the reason that all of this happened. If you 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.)

I'm missing an important body part!

I thought that might get your attention. You know that bump that is on the inside tip of your clavicle? You 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 you see it, please send it home. I miss it.

You'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!

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.

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...

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 ever hurt?

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.

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...

Huge Wisdom Tooth Extraction...

After putting up with a touchy wisdom tooth for several months, calming it with an occasional Vicodin, 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!

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 HIPPA. 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. 

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 texting 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.

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 Vicodin 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!

Ashley Madison Cheating Service...

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... 

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. 

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!

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!

End of an Era and almost a Finger...

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. 

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.

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.

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...

Rough Day at the Doctor's Office...

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! 

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.

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.

Does a Recliner have 9 Lives?

                                            She's Baaaack...

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?

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.

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.

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!

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...

Suicide by Recliner...

                                                               Mmmm......

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.

About 10 minutes later the phone rings and it's my friend in Chicago calling for a little FaceTime. 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...

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.

 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, Grrrr.....

She Should have Taken the Bus...

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 Buren 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 Maaco, 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 Maaco, 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.

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...

As the World Turns...

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.

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...

Why I Despise Online Dating...

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!

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:

Her name is Susan,

Me: Hello, is this Susan from the dating service?

Susan: No!

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!

Susan: This is a really bad time, try me again, and clicked off... ending my call.

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...)

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!''

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!