Afloat

SOME PEOPLE THINK IT'S FUNNY BUT IT'S REALLY DARK AND RUNNY

This morning I visited a coffee shop for the first time that bears a moniker touting said coffee.

The coffee was terrible. Seriously, I've had better coffee ON AN AIRLINE FLIGHT. Maybe I'm out of line here but I would think that when your store is mainly in charge of one key product, you'd pretty much make sure that at the very least that product was the shiz. Am I wrong?

LAME.

CRITTER COTTAGE

One of the duties of my job is that I have to pay a weekly visit to a "critter" store. Yes, I just wrote "critter". Welcome to my life! Anyway, we have a Bearded Dragon at school and the darn thing evidently needs to be fed. Whatev. Enter Girl, Corrupted. I frequent the Critter Cottage weekly for a supply of crickets, sand and other douchery.

The woman that runs the place is the sincere definition of SALTY DOG. Rough customer. Rode-hard-and-put-up-wet. You know what I'm sayin'. This chick is hard. Her name is Dina. Did I mention that I love her?

She has a Marlboro Red hanging out of her mouth, every visit. Yes, inside the store. The store completely smells like a variety of piss. Sometimes ( have I died and gone to Heaven?!?) she is eating AND smoking at the same time. Huzzah! Do NOT get me wrong, I am not making fun of this woman. This chick's life makes sense to her and I envy her that. She doesn't go to bed at night with the worries of the future on her mind. No sir.

We inherited a fish at my school and I was lamenting a couple weeks ago about that exact fact.

Me: Yeah, we got a Beta.
Dina: Beta's are assholes.
Me: Really?
Dina: Oh, fuck yeah. (she totally said "fuck yeah")
Me: Oh.
Dina: That's why they are alone in the bowl. They're total assholes.
Me: I guess I never thought of a fish being an "asshole".
Dina" Well, Betas are the assholes of the fish world, trust me.
Me: *exhale* Alrighty.
Dina: Honey, what else you need?
Me: Well, I tell ya what I don't need....one more thing at my school to do nothing but eat and shit.

(wait for it..........this is the awesome part)

Dina: Oh shit. I hear ya, gal. I tell folks here at the store... I've got six pets.....two cats, two dogs, one snake and AN OLD ASS WHO JUST SITS ON HIS AND DOES NOTHING BUT WAIT FOR DINNER.

Can I just tell ya'll I have a little bit of a girl crush on ole Dina? Isn't that the funniest thing someone has ever said?

In related news I can also report that she rocks a paddle brush in the back pocket of her Levi's. YES MA'AM.

She LOVES Sonic.

She refers to her mate as "My Old Man".

She's fantastic. The other day I went in for crickets and gerbil food and for whatever reason (the early hour, her weakened state given that she had recently had the flu, I don't know) and she decided to pick ME as the recipient for her pent up grief regarding her beloved cat who had just passed on. I spent 30 minutes at the Critter Cottage while Hard Ass Dina almost literally cried on my shoulder.

Every conversation with this woman is peppered with profanity. She is unapologetic in her manner OR vocabulary. She runs a store that sells fish, scorpions, rats and snakes. She has no reason whatsoever to have a kinship with me, nor I with her. However, we certainly have one, and it's brilliant. Sometimes my visit to her store is the highlight of my day.

I wish I was kidding.

Dina seemingly lives her life on her terms. I don't know what goes on behind the scenes, that part is certainly not my business.

Lately I've felt that I'm living my life on everyone else's terms. It would seem that my schedule is the one dictated to me, not the one I create.

Some days I just find myself jealous of Dina. I signed up for this life of mine, I certainly did.

That doesn't mean it always makes sense.

Mommie Dearest

My little brother (well, he's 40) has a blog. He recently posted an entry about his vacation home and this is a snippet. I laughed for ten minutes.

How I love my Mom.

Mom made some chicken enchiladas. They were Dee-lish. She was drunk at the time and forgot to add the chicken. That's why the chicken is on the outside of the tortillas.

Awesome.

Curl up and Dye

The other night the girls and I were playing their favorite game, "Salon". This is where they run a beauty salon and I am their client, getting my nails and hair and make-up "done". It's not a bad gig because it basically entails my sitting there getting my hair brushed by one while the other pretends to paint my fingernails and toenails. Really, it's quite relaxing.

Lily (8 years old) is usually the general manager of said salon, and Ella (4 years old) is the beauty technician. This works out because Ella gets to be hands on involved and Lily gets to show of her handwriting and math skills. Win-win!

So, as we're playing salon there started to be some bickering and disagreement on Ella's duties. They snapped at each other a few times as sisters do and I could tell it was past bedtime. I told them to pause the session for a moment while I put up some dishes and fed the dog.

A few seconds later Ella padded into the kitchen. She was wearing a flannel nightgown with a cupcake embroidered on it. CUTEST. THING. EVER. Anyway, she put herself face first into the corner of the kitchen and her shoulders began to shake.

I asked her what was wrong. As she turned around, I saw big ole tears streaming down her little cheeks. She began to cry so hard that I could not understand what she was saying.

Ella: Lih....lih....LIH!!!

Me: What?!?!

Ella: LILLY!

Me: Lilly what? Did she hit you? Did she bite you? What are you trying to tell me?

Ella: I... GOT.. FI-WOOD! *sobs uncontrollably*

Me: *stifling laughter* Ella, did you get "fired" from the salon?!?

Ella: Yes I did! And it hurts my feewings!!!

Innernet, it was all I could do to not burst into gales of laughter. Lilly apologized but she said clearly Ella wasn't pulling her weight at her place of employment. I told Ella that she and I would branch off and open our very own salon separate from her sister's. The tears disappeared. However, despite current events, I'm happy to say that Ella is now currently employed back at the salon... but on probation.

I'm not sure it's going to fly though as yesterday morning I heard a loud, "I QWIT, Lilly"!! and consequently a bedroom door slammed shut.

I'm not sure where we stand now. I guess I might have to start doing my own roots.

If only I had talent.

I love these guys. I have a crush on both of them...is that wrong?!?

A to the wesome. Just sayin'.

Enjoy! All the single ladies!

B.U.R.N.

This morning I dropped off Mr. Cooper at his kennel and got somewhat lost and turned around trying to find my way back into town. It was an unexplored route and I've been sick so I decided to stop at a little rural "gas-n-go" and get some green tea and some Day-Quill.

I walked into the store, grabbed a two-capsule packet of medicine and a Lipton tea. I approached the counter and was greeted by a rather rough looking clerk. She was probably in her 50's, but looked much older. She wore heavy eye make-up and had on deep dark purple lipstick. At 8:45am. I kinda of chuckled inside that this lady is probably a character.

I put my purchases on the counter and reached into my purse for my wallet.

Gas-n-Go lady: Awww. You're not feeling well?

Me: No, not really. I've got the crud. I'm not achy or feverish, but just congested and snotty and I wake up every morning with a sore throat. Annoying! Don't worry though, it's not the Swine Flu or anything!

Gas-n-Go lady: *handing me my change with her lip curled* Well, it sounds like to me you've got a case of the WHINE FLU, honey.

I totally got fronted by an old worn down Gas-n-Go chick. I walked out to my Jeep laughing like a little kid. Awesome.

The Reluctant StepMother

It's not that I didn't want kids, it's just that I really didn't want kids, ya'll. C'mon, I didn't make a conscious decision NOT to have kids, I just didn't think about having them or really want it to happen. If it did, it did. If it didn't, well fine. Through my twenties and thirties. It just didn't happen and I was fine with that.

Fast forward to present day. I'm a stepmother to two little girls. You think raising kids is hard? Try raising someone else's. Just saying.

DISCLAIMER: Yes, the rewards outweigh the sacrifices. No, I have no regrets. Yes, it's sometimes very challenging. No, I've never doubted my decision. I love these little girls, period.

But here's the thing, and I'll be totally honest - this has been the hardest and most exhausting year of my life. A 3 year old and a 7 year old. Holy crap. It's the hardest thing I've ever done, but it's also the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Let's start with mentioning that I have NO maternal instinct. NONE. Like, if I slam on my brakes in my car, you're so going to hit the windshield. That "Mom" right arm will NOT fling to the side and grab your chest and save you. I don't have that chromosome.

My Mother-in-Law is always making comments about me being a "Mommy" now. Well, I just don't feel it. It's going on almost one year of marriage and I, for the most part, just don't feel maternal. I feel loving and protective, but not maternal. They already have an awesome Mommy. I love my relationship with Johnny's daughters, but I've never actually felt like a Mother. I feel more like a kinda cool older sister, really.

Until Thursday. There I was, dishing up lunches for 58 kids at the pre-school. My back was to the kitchen door. Suddenly, there was a teacher at the kitchen door. She said, "Miss Jenny, we need help".

Her voice shook and her words were riddled with forthcoming tears.

I turned around and saw her holding our little one, Ella. Ella had whacked her head on a wooden chair playing in her Pre-K room. It was a perfect three inch cut on her forehead. However, as most folks know, a head wound bleeds like a stuck deer. I turned around to see my husband's little one ( I dislike the term stepdaughter. Not sure why) with blood running "Carrie"style down her face. Also? It was mixed with tears of pain and fear on her little face.

It was like everything happened in slow-motion. I grabbed Ella. I also grabbed a cold juice box and slapped it on her head. I tucked her into my arms. called Daddy and ran for the door. Her Daddy works next door, but more importantly, so do a few paramedics.

We met outside and had the paramedics check her out. She was fine. A nasty forehead gash for sure, but no stitches needed and no concussion. She even got to go inside the ambulance and push the siren button. Couple that with 3 Oreos back inside the school and I'd say it was *almost* worth her while.

Anyway, my point is this: For the FIRST time in my almost one year marriage....

I felt like a Mom. I turned, saw her bloody sweet innocent face and I went into OVERDRIVE. Fix this baby. Comfort this baby. This baby is hurt and I will do whatever it takes to make this better. It scared me half to death but I was also really, REALLY happy that I apparently made the right decisions and handled things well.

So there, universe. Maybe ole Jenny can be a Mom. Maybe I can make this work.

No. I'm wrong. I already have.

Thanks Jane!

This is a relatively new blog/Twitter but it makes me laugh. Out loud. Enjoy!

http://twitter.com/shitmydadsays

Justin is 29 and lives with his Dad. He simply writes down the crazy stuff his Dad says.

Oh, how I wish my Dad were still alive. We'd have ourselves a website, fo' sho.

My two favorite quotes so far.....

1. "It's just a fucking june bug, calm down. Jesus Christ, what happens when something bigger than a testicle attacks you?"

2. "The dog don't like you planting stuff there. It's his backyard. If you're the only one who shits in something, you own it. Remember that."

The simple majesty of the truth, no? My Dad and Justin's Dad would have been fast friends. That second quote slays me. SLAYS ME.

I want to be friends with Justin's Dad.

Family Tradition

So it's obviously been well documented that I was pretty much a Daddy's girl. My Dad and I were extremely close and I'll cherish the almost 40 years we had together. Those last few years were pretty painful, but I'm glad I was there. For him as much as myself, really. Few regrets.

Anyway, in the two years since his death I reminisce on occasion and things hit me here and there. Things he'd say, for instance. Expressions that made no sense, ie; "shit and carry six". No idea. Things he would eat. I'm still not completely sure what "shit on a shingle" is, but he loved it. He drank Lord Calvert in the handle bottle, and in his later years, Jack Daniel's. You would not catch my Father trying anything organic. Steak and potatoes, dammit. Pancakes and sausage for breakfast. Snack? What's that? That's a Hershey bar. Bless 'im.

No surprise there. He was a heavy drinking crusty ex-marine. Oh, and he was Irish.

The one thing that stands out oddly from my childhood is his affinity for tacos. Across the board he was not a fan of any ethnic cuisine. However, for some reason, tacos became his thing. Not just eating them...creating them. My Mother did most of the cooking in our home but when Dad decided it was "taco night", it was GAME ON.

There was no going to Taco Bell. There was no Ortega kit that he would purchase. He rolled old skool. And by that, I mean he bought soft corn tortillas and actually put them in a oil filled skillet. He'd transfer them to paper towels and dab the excess oil off of the tortillas. He bought fresh lettuce, tomatoes, black olives and onions. Back then (I swear this is true) you could not buy a bag of grated cheddar cheese or the mexican "mix" from Kraft. You bought a block of cheese and you grated it your damn self. The cheese would all clog up in the grates and you'd almost skin your fingers but it was the freshest orangey ribbons of cheese you'd ever tasted. He'd couple that with sour cream, taco sauce (no "salsa" dammit) and make a taco bar of sorts. He'd dish out all these fresh ingredients into little white crocks and center them on our dining room table. He'd saute the ground beef and season it slowly, letting it simmer. The whole house smelled heavenly.

We'd descend on the kitchen and watch him prepare the feast. Some of the fondest memories I have are the sleepovers my girlfriends would have at my house and my Dad would prepare tacos and put on quite the show. My friends were delighted to see a man in the kitchen (it was the 70's after all) and my Dad loved the spotlight. He'd take "orders" and we'd create mix after tasty mix of different taco combos. Laughter would abound, sauce would drip down chins and everyone made a mess but no one cared. Now I know Dad was imbibing his Lord Calvert/7Up mix during his tenure as Chef, but there was no doubting the joy he took in preparing his specialty meal. It wasn't just having dinner, it was an experience.

Well, in the last ten or twenty years, I've not had cause for a taco night. Living alone you really don't go to that kind of trouble for just yourself. I've made a taco salad here and there, but never really went full metal jacket on the preparation and made it an event. Half the fun is sharing the experience. Enjoying a meal with others.

Fast forward to current day. I decided awhile back to have a "taco night" with Johnny and our daughters. Ella, our three year old would have no part, I knew, but Lily is a fantastic eater and she was thrilled with the concept.

I HAD NO IDEA.

I'm pleased to say that Taco Night is a hit in our household. Both girls want to help in the preparation and it's become a family affair. We had a sleepover a couple of weeks ago and Lily had asked if we could have "Jenny's taco's" as the meal. YOU BETCHA. So there I am in the kitchen...chopping, sorting, putting things in little dishes and making a taco bar of our own. Do I use fresh corn tortillas? No. Mission flour tortillas work just fine. Do I buy the Ortega kit? Absolutely. I use ground turkey instead of beef (sorry Dad) but still use mostly the same ingredients. And they are delicious.

So, we all sit together at the table as a family and eat tacos. Sauce runs down chins and laughter abounds. There are second helpings and sometimes thirds. It's at least a bi-monthly occurrence and I couldn't be more pleased. Part of becoming a family is starting traditions and finding out what works and what makes your family unique. Taco night is by far a unique or worldly concept, but it's something that my new little family quite enjoys, and it's become our silly little thing.

Last night Lily called from her Mommy's house and I asked Johnny what was the reason for the call. She is in third grade and in two weeks they are having tacos for lunch at her school. She wanted to know if I could come and eat lunch with her at school on taco day.

I don't know who was happier...me, or my Dad.*

* Dad. Trust me on the ground turkey thing. It's healthier and you cannot taste the difference, I promise you. NO, that is not a bunch of happy horseshit. I am not lying. No, I would never mix Jack Daniel's with Sprite, that's just wrong but you have to trust me with the turkey. I love you. Thanks.

This morning I was brushing Ella's hair.  She'll be four years old next week.

Me:  So, Ella.  Do you want a braid?  A ponytail?  Do you want your hair up or down?

Ella:  I don't really care as long as it looks professional.

Me:  *blink*  *blink*

I know she didn't get that word from me. 

It is what it is.

Johnny:  Honey!  Come here!  Quick!

Me: *dashing into living room*  What is it?!?

Johnny:  Guess what?!  Do you know what today is?

Me:  Aww!  You are so sweet,  it's our 9 month wedding anniversary!

Johnny:  Um, yeah...that too, but NASCAR is racing at Bristol... tonight!

What can I say, innernet?  I married a romantic.

Don't sugar coat it, Mom.

Actual phone conversation.

Me:  Awww!  Mom!  My husband just walked in the house with a bouquet of flowers!

Mom:   Don't get too excited, it's all about sex.

Me:  Mom!

Mom:  Well, honey, it is.

Me:  Geez.  Thanks buzzkill!

Mom:  Well.

On top of it all?  I recite this conversation to Johnny after the fact...and his response?

"She's right".

It worked.

On the latest episode of F this House.

Well, that didn’t last long.   On the heels of the below loving post comes a less than pleasant one. 

I’ve mentioned before that we live in an old farmhouse.  Charming, yes?  No, dilapidated.

We’ve spent the last 8 months cleaning and purging and painting and fixing.  I’m very proud of our accomplishments but we still have a long way to go.  New furniture is nice, but doors that open correctly and gates that lock without possible amputation are better.

It started out pleasant enough.  I awoke to my husband telling me he loves me and with two stinky hounds at my bedside.   I showered, had breakfast and headed upstairs to get ready for work.   It is roughly around 200 degrees in my dressing room*.  “Just turn on the air conditioner, honey, it’ll cool ‘er right down!” my husband will chirp. 

This is not true.   This “air conditioner” merely just blows the warm air around.  Also, it shorts out 2 or 3 times a night.  So, even with this POS air conditioner blasting, it’s still a sauna.   I can’t tell you how much I fun I had drying my hair while watching my make up literally slide down my face.  By the time I finished, I looked like Courtney Love on the cover of “Live through This”.  GOOD TIMES.

I patted my face dry and went downstairs, disgruntled and sweaty.  Time to feed the dogs.  Our pantry is bad news – there’s no room and the doors don’t open all the way due to some stupid crock that is supposed to hold umbrellas.   The door only opens about 6 inches so I have to squeeze my arm and shoulder through the dark crack and fumble around for the cans of dog food.  It’s partially my fault for storing the food in there, but there’s no other option.  Our kitchen blows.

I finally wrestle out the cans of dog food and manage not to dislocate my shoulder.  I’m still sweating.  I open the food and pour the contents of each can into their separate dog dishes.  I grab one in each hand and attempt to do one simple thing; open the damn door.

Johnny had new storm doors put on the house but the one that leads to the kitchen opens a little wonky.  You have to turn the handle all the way to the right because something has happened and now it will stick if you don’t.  It used to be you could just tap it and it would open.  Johnny tried to explain it to me – something about expansion or something but I say it’s just wonky.

So.  I go to the door and hit the handle with the bottom of the dog dish and proceed forward.  NO SIR.  The door sticks and the dog dish topples to the floor spilling foul-smelling Alpo dog food all over our kitchen floor, and ME.  I’m going to be late for work.  I fight back tears.

I clean up the kitchen the best I can and then return upstairs to the sauna to change my shirt.  I come back downstairs and fill up the dog dish again and head up to their pen.  The pen is behind the garage and it is uphill in pure mud.  This is fun because of my bad knee.   Upon finishing that I attempt to lock the pen.  Again, the horseshoe lock is uneven so therefore is a bitch to close and secure the pen.  It’s always been bad but as of late you almost have to slam your fist down on it to get it to close.  That was the case this morning and my right palm still is throbbing.  Serenity now!

As I grab my computer and head out to the driveway, I attempt to open our side gate.  This gate opens forward but is also uneven and ‘sprags’ on the concrete.   It opens about 4 inches and then hits the concrete and bounces back towards me.  I try to force it forward but it has an exposed screw tip that scrapes across my arm.  Now I am crying.

I love my new life, I do.   A lot of patience is required in living in an old home, I know.

I just sometimes miss my little cottage 3 hours west of here where the doors open and shut without incident.  I miss central heat and air.  I miss a clean kitchen with functioning cabinets and storage space.  A laundry room.  

 

We’ll get there one day, I know.  In the meantime, someone pass me a mint julep.

 

* by “dressing room” I mean an old neon green nursery filled with temporary plastic clothing racks, dirty clothes and plastic tubs of shoes.  Very glamorous.

Much ado about nothing.

So my husband is a lot smarter than I am.  I'm just gonna go ahead and  throw  that out there.   He often enjoys spending our evenings watching programs like The Colbert Report,  Jon Stewart and Bill Maher.   Me?  I'm all give me Kathy Griffin and her damn life on the D-List.

Last night I tried to split it both ways but in a sense, it really doesn't matter.  I'm not even smart enough to argue my point without sounding even more retarded.  However, we were both thrilled to watch "One Hit Wonders" on VH-1.  Now that is something we can both agree on - our love of music.   We were both salivating and betting on what the Number 1 "one hit wonder" would be....I said "Tainted Love"/Soft Cell and he offered up "Come on Eileen"/Dexy's Midnight Runners. 

 He won.   At least it wasn't "Safety Dance".   WTF with that song?

NEW FAVORITE QUOTE

Last weekend Johnny and I were at Border's Bookstore.  For no apparent reason whatsoever, the manager of the store approached me and started telling me about the new monthly feature book.  A book so wonderful, evidently, that she even typed up a review and put out on the display shelf for all to see.   As Johnny was purchasing his book she continued to extol the splendor of this novel that is told from the perspective of a dog.  The dog "wrote" the book.  Okay, whatever.

As we exited the store Johnny was laughing and shaking his head.  "I know",  I said, 

"I must have looked like I needed a recommendation".

"No idea", Johnny said, "but  the only way I could be less interested in that book was if it was written from the perspective of a cat". 

Awesome.

NEW ADDITION

We've proudly added a full blown hound dog to our family.   Lucy Dog.  She was timid and mistrusting at first but I kid you not I think she gave Johnny a lap dance last night as he rubbed her long ears.  Hilarious.  She'd writhe all over him and sit up on two legs and then dramatically flop her entire upper torso over his leg and look up at him with those hang dog eyes.   Mr. Cooper loves her though and they are quite the pair.  

I THOUGHT I WAS JUST GROWING OLD, NOT UP.

Spent the past weekend in Chicago with some dear friends.  Friends I've known over half of my life.   I was so excited to get away for three days and feel like "my old self", you know?   No kids, no work, no responsibilities!   Not possible.   I found myself in a cab heading back to the flat at 7pm after spending the day at a festival.   WORN OUT. My companions stayed out and tripped the light fandango, but I just couldn't hang.  

I asked my pal James how he had the constitution and fortitude.  "Girl", he said, "I have my PhD in Street Festival!".   How true.   

We had a great time but in some ways I think we've got such different lives now that it was challenging to relate to each other on one level.   On another, some things never change and I loved catching up and reminiscing.  People that know the real you and love you anyway are always worth the time and trouble of a road trip.   We're all in our forties now and I was pleased to see that while together we still felt like those young 20-something kids.   It seemed hardly any time had passed.

When I returned to work yesterday a teacher asked me about my trip.  I've been very vocal about my struggles to adapt to my new life.   I've never been one to hold back and usually if I think something, I say it.  Not always the smartest thing, but that's me.   Many of my new pals have laughed along with me at some of the frustrations and difficulties of my new life.  It's been a wild ride and the last 8 months of my life have also been the most challenging.

When I trotted in yesterday, she started laughing.    "I bet you didn't want to come home, did you"?!?!   "Tell the truth"!

 Sunday evening I walked into our dark little kitchen exhausted and with luggage in tow.  I found my blue-eyed husband preparing our dinner and two stinky-ass dogs going apeshit at my feet.   I felt loved and missed.  And you know what else? 

She was wrong.  I was home.

Conversations with Olivia

My BFF at work is a two-year old by the name of Olivia.   For whatever reason, this child has decided that we are inseparable.  Often Olivia will choose to stay with me at my desk rather than hit the playground at recess.  We have many deep and meaningful conversations.  She has taken to wearing a hair tie around her wrist just as I do.  She mimics my every move and constantly wants to play with my hair. 

She's also the smallest kid in her class and the biggest bully.  It cracks me up.  She's like Pearl the Landlord from the Will Ferrell skit.

Today we had one of those meaningful conversations.  Olivia was "driving" around her classroom with her little purse slung over her shoulder.

Me:  Olivia - where are you going?

Olivia:  To the store.

Me:  Oh.  What are you getting at the store?

Olivia:  I get money for you and a cupcake for me.

This is totally why she's my BFF.  4ever!

Verbal Diarrhea

So today I had a pap smear.  Yes, it was time for my annual exam.  Hooray!  This is not usually traumatic for me as I am 41 years old and am used to the routine.  However, now that I've moved I had to find a new Doctor and that was somewhat of a concern.  I mean, you and your OBGYN need to be simpatico, I'd say.

On a side note, I've always thought "Pap Smear" would be a great name for a punk band.  Just sayin'.  Can't you just just hear the crowd roaring?  The ubiquitous announcer says, "live from Chicago, please put your hands together for the devastating rock of.....PAP SMEAR"!!!

 I digress.

Anyway, I was like what the hell when the technician asked me if I needed to "empty my bladder" before my exam.  Can we really not just say "use the ladies room"?  She also did not find it funny when she went over my chart with me.  As a new patient, I had to fill out a ton of annoying paperwork.

Technician:  Do you have an eating disorder?

Me:  I wish.

Not funny, evidently.

Technician:  Do you have any history of mental illness in your family?

Me:  That depends on who you ask.

Again, not funny.

Technician:  Has anyone in your family had breast cancer?

Me:  Yes.  My Grandmother and my Mother.  I'm really looking forward to it.

Please believe me, I wasn't trying to douche out in the Doctors office.  I was merely trying to bring a little levity to the situation.   Sister Scrubs was unflappable. 

Oh well.   The bottom line was my Doc was awesome and really made me feel comfortable.  Another year in the books.  I can't wait until dinner tonight when I get to coyly hand Johnny a vasectomy brochure.  Oh, the romance!

Living the dream, innernet.