Sunday, October 19, 2014

I Just Caught Ebola. No I just WON $100 Million. Same Odds

People are in a panic over Ebola. Folks, you ain't gonna get it. More people have won the lottery than have contracted EBOLA in this country. More people died of encephalitis is Dallas than have contracted Ebola. We might all have it.  We don't.   No major population in this country will be killed off.  To calm fears, we came up with some joking symptoms.

You might have Ebola if: 1) You are Presbyterian
2) You flew on a plane in the last twenty years
3) If both 1 and 2 are true, you have it.
4) You left home at least once in your life.
5) Someone in your family left home once in their life.
6) You have a fever or ever knew someone who had a fever
7) If you ate food from anywhere.
8) You know someone in Dallas or even said the word Dallas.
9) You said the word Africa.
10) You give in to this stupid panic.

This panic is costing the system dearly.  Someone threw up at the Pentagon.  Evacuation time.  An Oregon teacher was within 10 miles of Presbyterian Hospital.  She has to stay home for 3 weeks.   Planes are being evacuated because someone has a fever.   This is nuts.  In a large group of people, someone always has a fever, an upset tummy, or does not feel well.  Emergency rooms cannot attend children looking like astronauts.  Presbyterian is a fine hospital who have saved probably a million lives through the years.  One slip up in a disease no one in this country was prepared for does not make them incompetent.  I would not hesitate to go to the ER right now if I needed it.

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Holiday Menu: Tofucken and Yoohoo Wine

Some people’s eating habits get on my nerves. I don’t know why people eat artificially engineered crap that is a substitute for some real food. Fake sugar is the biggest joke ever played. What is the deal with that shit? If you eat so much sugar that you need to substitute fake sugar that is calorie-free, lay off the fucking sugar. If you eat so much that it makes you fat, using artificial sugar ain’t gonna make you thin. Closing the mouth will. If you use sugar free substitutes due to cavities and tooth decay, again, stop with the sugar! I recently read an article that indicated artificial sweetener made people gain weight. If you are a diabetic maybe it is okay. I know their sugar level has to be carefully monitored but use the real stuff and avoid the real stuff as required.

Then there is milk. There are many substitutes for whole milk. Why do people use skim milk for anything? It tastes like crap and is not fit to drink. It’s okay for cooking but with real eggs and butter, skim milk makes no sense at all. Then you got your soy milk for lactose intolerance. I have given this considerable thought. How do you milk a soy?

Then there is gluten free bread. Why? If you have a problem with bread, avoid it. Altered food is not good for you either. And canned biscuits? Who thought of putting biscuits in a can? Isn’t that sort of like potted meat? What does potted mean? Plants are potted. What kind of meat is it? Potteds are not rare animals, apparently, but I believe it is something with hooves. And Spam is what exactly? No one knows. It is top secret confidential information that I am going to reveal. It is meat flavored crap.
Then you’ve got instant mashed potatoes. What is so hard about boiling potatoes? It’s all you have to do and add a little salt, milk and butter. Then squish it all together!

Aerosol cheese in a can is the height of stupidity. Europeans make fun of us for this. Are we so impatient that we cannot wait for the cheese to warm up to spread? Some cheese is not meant to spread. It is to be eaten in chunks. Besides, it embarrasses me to say the words Cheese Whiz.

And white chocolate? That is a total fraud! There is no chocolate in there. It’s like milk chocolate only without the chocolate. They could have called it “milk”, but that name was already taken. So, it had no name at all. Then some idiot goof they put in charge of naming things called it “white chocolate”.

Now, we also have water enhancer. What the hell is that? I am giving it to my fish and putting it in my pool and commode. Only the finest, enhanced water is good enough for my fish and plumbing. I mean, seriously folks, what was so wrong with water that we had to enhance it?

Then they have the near beer. It tastes like beer but it has no alcohol. Why drink fake beer? Get some beer flavored water enhancer and add water.

You know what else they have invented? Chocolate red wine! Why? Do you have to combine flavors on everything? Who thinks of these things and why? It’s the Yoohoo of wines. Now that is a title.
Not only do they have fake sugar, they have fake salt, and fake creamer. I hear margarine is a molecule away from plastic. That’s a little too close for me. Butter is fine as is. Milk is fine. Sugar is fine. Potatoes are fine. Bread is fine. All that fake shit is enough to make you sick. Don’t eat it. If you don’t know what it is and where it came from, for God’s sake, don’t ingest it.

Then with the holiday coming, there is tofu turkey. Why make some crap up that is like a turkey but isn’t? Imitating meat is a lousy idea. Why not make one of play-doh? It says on the container it is non-toxic and the kids will have fun preparing the whole meal. The turducken makes more sense. For those of you who do not know, a turducken is a chicken stuffed inside a duck inside a turkey. For our holiday, because we are a family who appreciates following through with lunatic ideas, we are having tofucken and some of that Yoohoo wine!


Tuesday, November 26, 2013

The Thanksgiving Nightmare - Handling a Naked Turkey

Thanksgiving is now officially one of my favorite holidays. I tried for years to enjoy it, but that damned turkey ruined it every year. Don’t get me wrong, the turkey tasted just fine. I just could not stand the idea of reaching inside that bird and removing “giblets”, whatever the hell that is and who thinks of these words. “Giblets” sounded like a less fortunate member of the family. It was sickening.

One year, I had friends over for Thanksgiving and they saw the rubber gloves still out. Oops. I had to explain why I hated cooking turkey. I said I felt like I was violating a dead animal by reaching in there and removing parts. I explained I was no turkey gynecologist, but I always used rubber gloves for the examination. I hated touching that dead bird with no feathers or head. It is true. I do use rubber gloves. That bird spread out looked obscene. I think they thought I was strange.

It was always something wrong with cooking the turkey too! No matter how many packets were inside, I always left one in there. If there were three, I removed two thinking I had them all. Who thought of the dumb game “ Hide Little Bags of Weird Turkey Parts That I Have to Throw Out” inside the turkey? What kind of mind does that? Couldn’t they just put it in one big baggy for those people who use giblets and necks and those other packets of unknowns? Saving out turkey parts sounds like a perverse goal.

It was always a great phone conversation I had with my mother across the country every Thanksgiving?
Me: “How many of those little bags are in a turkey?”
Mom: “47”
Me: “Oh no!”
Mom: “Why? How many did you remove?”
Me: “Only 36. Now I have to get that damned turkey out of the oven, let it cool down and look for the other 11 packets.”
Mom: (Laughing) “I love Thanksgiving. I wish you were here to let me cook the turkey. I love you, dear.” Me: “I love you, too, but why do they keep on adding extra plastic bags of weird parts every year and shoving them up the turkey’s ass?”
Mom: “Watch the mouth, but your turkey will be just fine. You cannot ruin a turkey.”

I miss that insane conversation that I had every year with my mom about the turkey. She was right. You cannot ruin a turkey, but my meal was always haunted by that troubling encounter prior to cooking. I hated touching that poor old, big fat, ugly bird with no feathers or head. I sure as hell never stuffed that poor pitiful yucky thing. I am sure that it violates some law of nature and religion. If it doesn't, this is a sick word we live in.
Finally, I discovered the joy of smoked turkey. Someone else does all the dirty work. I am no longer a turkey gynecologist, playing "Find the Giblets" and feeling shame and embarrassment because I was unsuccessful. Now, I can enjoy a beautifully prepared turkey without any unpleasant memories of feeling around inside a dead bird. No more finding cooked plastic packets of obscure and prior to this time unknown turkey parts when it was carved. (That became an embarrassing annual event with my husband prodding it with a knife and dragging it out at the dinner table.) The thing is that it was never the bird. It was about being with screwy relatives and having fun. That was always the real treat. Be thankful. Happy Thanksgiving Y'all.

Sunday, November 17, 2013

The Last of the Red Hot Sexters

I don’t know why I never thought of it before.  Someone should have.  Am I the last living practical joker in the country?

My friend and I were discussing ways to hide identities in our contact lists on our cell phones so no one would ever actually know the names associated with the numbers.  There is the possibility of losing our cell phones and we could  simply try to keep it private when someone calls.  We thought of assigning names like Bud or BFF for our contacts so that if anyone accidentally picked up our phone, our lists could not possibly be decoded.   If the cell phone is accessed, there is much information to be gathered like where home is, who “mom” is, our email connections, Facebook acquaintances and log ons etc.   Then we got to wondering out loud like we always do.  What if we changed our names to someone very cool?  What if I changed my husband’s name to Brad Pitt?   It would be great to get calls from Brad Pitt regularly and call him whenever I liked.  What if I changed “home” to Madison Square Gardens or the White House?  What if she changed her work number to Ford Modeling Agency?  What if we changed our names on each other’s phones to something clever like Lucy Ricardo and Ethel Mertz?  Then we decided to use only living character because the alternative was a dead giveaway (pun intended).  

Now, in my list of contacts, instead of Bart, I have Steven Spielberg.  In the place of home, I have CBS Studios – Craig Ferguson.  Instead of Linda, I have Margaret Thatcher.  Instead of a son, I have Agent 007. Instead of a boyfriend, she has George Clooney.  Her sister in law is the Duchess of Cambridge.  Betty White is now my aunt.   One of my closest friends with an ordinary name is now Lindsay Lohan.  She should thank me.  I shaved 30 years off her age.  My old boss is now “Q”.  We made a list of characters and went about changing names and tried to be methodical so that Gary on each of our phones was  now Sam Sheppard. My friend Ellen acquired a new last name, Ellen Degeneris. My friend, Mike became Miley Cyrus.   He got an income increase, a sex change, and lost 30 years all by simply changing his name.   Sean is now Sean Connery.  On the bright side, he got a boost in income, character, but added almost 30 years.   Tradeoffs had to be made. 
My friend, now known as Gloria Estefan, listed the most important person in her life which is her son as “God”.  Now she gets calls from God.   She has the audacity to let it ring several times before she answers.  I think a call from God should be answered on the first ring, but that is just me.

We were quite impressed with our all-star list of contacts.  As my own little joke to myself, I changed my doctor’s name to Dr. Kevorkian.   The school is now Folsom Prison.   My husband’s work place is NASA Control Center.  We had a lark changing and updating names as we polished off a bottle of rum, even adding Cap’n Morgan in there as a name for a mutual friend.   We spent hours thinking of cool names as we encoded our directories.   Yes, we do have time to waste on nonsense like this.

The inevitable happened.  Dan Rather is calling, and I don’t know who the hell it is, but I put Hillary Clinton on hold to take it.  Michelle Obama texted asking if we were still on for lunch.    We might be if I could remember who she is.  I missed a call from the Duchess of Cambridge and have a message from Mr. Spock.   Adam Ant leaves texts for me to call him at home.   I would if I knew who it was.  Bart Simpson is calling and I think it is the real one.  He leaves texts saying "I will not cut corners" with a million ditto marks underneath it. 

I don’t know who is calling anymore as I forgot who they were originally.  But if I need a little ego boost, all I have to do is look at my call list.  Bill Clinton called twice yesterday, and Johnny Depp sexted me.

Monday, June 17, 2013

My First Colonoscopy or How to Keep A Healthy Colon

Like most middle aged women and men too, I finally heard the most dreaded words you can possibly hear if you are a normal healthy adult.  “You have to schedule your colonoscopy, or I cut off your supply of Xanax.”   

I had a mortal fear of this procedure.  Being a woman, we are accustomed to being probed, prodded, and poked, but no one ever shoved a camera up any orifice (excluding that time in 1989 that never happened).  Asses are off limits.  We just don’t like it.

Doctors will tell you, “It isn’t so bad. It saves lives and the drugs are good.” They will say anything to convince you to have it done.  Friends who have survived the ordeal say the night before preparations prior the procedure is the worst part.   Either way, I was going to avoid it as long as possible.  It was me against them.  This time they won. 

Well, my regular doctor made my appointment.   I sat pouting in  his office as I awaited  news on the the date and place of my unfortunate first time probing.   The office said they would schedule with Dr Brown, the best in the business. 

“Dr Brown?  A butt doctor?  Are you shitting me?  Why didn't he name himself Dr Anus.”  I giggled out the words. 

My doctor who has known me since I was as pure as driven over slush wryly answered, “I shit you not.”

Well that was the beginning of a monumental phase of my life.  It normally takes a month to see Dr Brown  (snicker), but they managed to get me in as a special favor to my doc in three days.  My doc explained that I would be sedated and unaware of the immodesty of the procedure.  He said they called in a prescription to flush out the system called MoviPrep and I should pick it up on the way home.

MoviPrep?  The comments kept coming from my mouth. “Do they make a movie with a camera shoved up my ass.  If I end up in some weird internet porn, I am suing.”

The doctor explained that it is called MoviPrep because you will make a move to the bathroom every 3 seconds the night before in preparation for the Master Prober.  Well, I picked up the prescription and the first thing that startled me was the cost.  I had to change underwear from hearing the sheer price.  With insurance, it was $60.  I understand $60 is not a lot to save a life, but damn, it’s a super laxative not some new cancer cure that targets cells and I had insurance.   Once I got the prescription I can say with experience and confidence, this prescription is the worst thing to hit the market since contaminated baby formula from China.  

I prepared the solution hours before so it would be cold which was supposed to make it easier to drink.  The day prior to the colonoscopy, you are not allowed to eat anything only clear liquids.  Then at 5:00 pm,  the real fun starts.  I removed the liquid from the refrigerator which comes in what appears to be 5 gallon containers.  I grabbed a straw to start drinking.  The first container has to be polished off within an hour.  I took my first taste.  This horrible laxative is a combination of Mr Clean combined with water from the Dead Sea.  It smelled and tasted just like mop water.  It was that bad. No, it was worse.   I would say it tastes like shit, but having never eaten it, it is an unfair comparison.  After the first gallon or so, I was gagging and could not drink, but I had to finish it in one hour.  I was running behind.   Finally I guzzled and fantasized that this is a form of torture, and if I survive, I win the lottery.  Finally I downed the first container with the thought that 500 million was my prize for this.   So far no diarrhea.  I was holding it in.  I would not cooperate with this drug.  I am queen of my domain, no one makes my ass move.  Then, my tummy began to rumble and make sounds like thirty cats being run through the spin cycle on the washer.  That was the few minutes before the shit hit the fan.

I felt the urge to go but this was more like an incident of my water breaking than diarrhea.  I went to the bathroom and whoosh.  I was through.  I was free to drink any clear liquid I wanted as long as it was not red, blue, or purple which means the only fluids available are bleach and ammonia.  The bleach and ammonia helped cleanse my palette of the awful taste of Mr Cleans Dead Sea Juice or more commonly called MoviPrep or even more commonly called mop water. 

I drank 7-up and ginger ale to clear out the bleach and ammonia that I used as a chaser for the MoviPrep.  My drinking was interrupted every 10 seconds by the 20 yard dash to the bathroom.  Then before I knew it, it was time for container two.  The container had grown in size since I put it in the refrigerator.  Now it was the size of a party keg and I had one hour to drink it.  I felt Like Scotty, “It cannot be done, Captain.”  

I began to drink from Tanker #2.  I swear my water broke 20 times that night, although I was assured by my doctor that I was not pregnant and had not been in 17 years.  He laughed his ass off to my chronic complaints and said I held the world’s record for being able to talk on the phone while on MoviPrep.  We divas must prioritize.  Complaints to the doctor that forced you to have this procedure trump rocket powered bowel movements.

After going to the bathroom 196 times, it was time for bed so I could be up and ready to go at 5:00 am.   Oddly enough, I slept through the night.  The next morning as soon as the alarm sounded so did the call to nature.  I Movi-Prepped quickly to the bathroom.  Whoosh.  Then off to the shower to make sure I was as  clean externally as I was internally.  Now I was ready for “my procedure”.

I arrived at the office a bit leery and disturbed by the upcoming event.  The nurses were women of great humor and said I would meet the doctor shortly.   I asked if it was appropriate to make fun of his name being Dr Brown when he is a colon/rectal specialist or more commonly called an ass doctor.  They laughed and said he loved it, but I would have to speak up as he is a little hard of hearing.  On cue, he walked in and introduced himself and was the best looking doctor I have ever seen. No kidding.  He had movie star quality good looks.

Undeterred by his physical appearance and the fact that I am a middle-aged woman having her first colonoscopy, I lit into him. I shouted, “So you are Dr Brown.  Did you make that up or is it your real name, Master Prober?”

He said, “I see you have been talking to my staff.  Remind me to fire them all.”

He was a man of practical wit and very much aware that none of us looked forward to his specialty. I immediately liked him.

Then the anesthesiologist came in and introduced himself.  He did not have a remarkable name so I just called him Dr Gas.  The nurses had already prepared the IV site and I was ready for him.  He was my only escape from this situation.  He had the drugs.  He announced he was going to inject, and it would hurt for a few seconds.  I told him he was my only friend in the operating room and to keep his eyes open on the others while I was sedated.   My conversation was interrupted by the profound ache at the IV site that made my entire arm feel like it had been hit by a sledge hammer 30 seconds before.  I said I could taste the drugs when I breathed.  I felt like I was breathing out drug vapors and any second, the whole crew would keel over.  He comforted me by telling me this was all normal.

Then,  I was gone.  I remember nothing.  I woke up in recovery with a nurse telling me I was through and could go home in just a few minutes.  It was only 20 minutes later.  There was a large clock on the recovery wall as well as the OR.  The doctor came in beaming.  I asked if it was a boy or a girl. 

He laughed and proclaimed, “You didn't get a baby, but you have a beautiful colon.”

You probably won’t believe this but no handsome young professional has ever said that to me and I suddenly felt a sense of pride in this compliment.  

On a more serious side, get the colonoscopy.   The Movi-Prep tastes like mop water smells, but you have to drink it.  You don’t actually get diarrhea but a flushing of the colon.  It is not as bad as I like to make it sound.  Dr Brown and staff were perfect for my first time.  They were a delight.   It is a life preserving procedure.  Do it.  It only takes twenty minutes and you get color photographs of your colon.  Although my colon is beautiful, modesty prevents me from posting.  Use your imagination.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Halloween Is All Tricks and No Treats

For the first time in years, I am looking forward to Halloween. Halloween has always been a creepy holiday. I don't like the idea that all the dead saints are walking around begging for candy. Why do dead saints want candy? Don’t they know it’s bad for the teeth and packs on the pounds?

Halloween was always an obligation to buy 20 -30 pounds of candy to give out to complete strangers that do not live on my street or in my neighborhood. It seemed an odd thing to open a door to people I do not know, wearing masks, carrying large bags, and demanding candy. The really weird thing is everyone is doing it. It is a most bizarre, not too smart idea. Behind those masks could be robbers or worse. They might be crazed killers, or worst of all, candy-hording giants.

Halloween trick or treaters are in for a surprise this year from me. Every year the group is getting older and taller. They aren’t young children. I swear some of them have full beards or built like Dolly Parton, and it ain’t no costume. Last Halloween, I told a trick or treater that we are not giving out beer or Quaaludes. This year with the economy worsening, there will be more candy panhandlers than usual. Everyone is cutting back on luxuries and that includes Milky Ways, Snickers, and m&ms. We all do what we must.

This Halloween, I decided to have a trick rather than a treat. I am cleaning out my cabinets and medicine cabinet and giving it away. I am handing out Rolaids, travel size toothpaste, dental floss, aspirin and anything else I might find. They are demanding a trick or a treat. This year, they get a trick, no treat.

Can you imagine the conversation?
Stranger 1: “What did you get? I got a Tum and a toothpick.”
Stranger 2: “She gave me a Cert and a little bottle of Scope.”
Stranger 3: “She likes you better. She gave me a band aid and roll of gauze.”
Stranger 4: “Can I have your gauze? She gave me adhesive tape and burn ointment.”
Stranger 5: “I got a tampon and sun tan lotion.”
Stranger 6: "Why did she give me Ex-Lax and Pepto Bismol? Which one do I take first?"

Just to play it safe as an added precaution for the adult trick or treaters, I will question them whether they have ulcers or high blood pressure before I give the Advil and cough syrup. I will also check their blood pressure to make them think I know what I am doing. Some will get a foil pack of Alka-Seltzers and xeroxed copies of the sale at the nearest liquor store.

As my supply wears thin, I will turn to condiments. I will be giving out salt, pepper, ketchup, mustard, soy sauce, creamer, packets of sugar and sporks. So come early to get the really good stuff. Breath mints and band aids won’t last all night.