Consolation

Recently amongst my friends there has been an inordinate amount of loss. I have typed up a few passages in order to try and aid them in their times of difficulty. To some these might seem a bit unusual but taken in the light that I am not a man raised strictly in deep traditional faith and am merely trying to help others.

Share if any of this helps you or someone you know.

Host of Heaven

The spectre of death has visited another soul and performed the duty of its tasking

I bid thee grant access to this spirit and welcome it into the infinite expanse of the eternal kingdom

The onus is not upon this soul as the keeper lived as righteously as any yet that have visited this mortal world

The only transgression that can be established is the lapse in awareness causing the incomplete span for the keeper

Greet this soul with all the love and compassion as can be mustered to erase the torment suffered

As a witness I submit that this soul is pure and true and that the flaw was due to the construct of others

The strength with which this force lived is a proclamation that it shall become an angel of the highest magnitude thus continuing to serve and inspire others

Host of Heaven

Today another Angel shall join your legion

Sound the trumpets

Celebrate her advent

Her body ravaged by sickness, wash the pains of this world from her

I need not plead or beseech thee to permit her access

Be assured her spirit is whole

Revere this spirit and honor her to the highest degree

Her life led by her sense of purpose in observance of the doctrine set forth by the Creator

Another waits for her arrival

See to it that they are joined once again to their rightful place beside each other

Thine Kingdom of Heaven grows greater with her arrival

Host of Heaven

The spectre of death has visited another soul and performed the duty of its tasking

I bid thee grant access to this spirit and welcome it into the infinite expanse of the eternal kingdom

The onus is not upon this soul as the keeper lived as righteously as any yet that have visited this mortal world

The Creator has seen fit to admonish this spirit with a plague that he could not fight

Our humble community poses no query as to the reasoning for this but ask that you

Greet this soul with all the love and compassion as can be mustered to erase the torment suffered

As a witness I submit that this soul is pure and true and that no flaw exists except what was due to the construct of others

The strength with which this force lived is a proclamation that it shall become an angel of the highest magnitude thus continuing to serve and inspire others

Passing of a Mentor

The light of creativity and art has grows slightly dimmer with the passing of a man of legendary skills in marking the anointed.

I am a humbled man for having known him and eternally grateful to have learned from this Master of my chosen craft. It was through his expert tutelage that I was able to elevate my craft allowing me to help others express themselves with displays of wonderful art ingrained into their very beings.

With the lessons learned from his guidance I shall intensify the flame once again.

Rest easy my friend, know that you shall be missed but that we will not be hobbled by your leaving this realm.

We know that the Valkyries have taken you up. That the doors of Valhalla have been thrown open for your arrival. That the mead runs freely to be capture in the drinking horns that the warriors that have gone before you are now handing to you.

We who are left behind celebrate your life, pleased to have shared in you while you were here. I endeavor to live my life in a manner that I too shall be chosen by the Valkyries to join you in the Great Hall upon my leaving this mortal vessel. Then we will mark the warriors for the coming Ragnarök

Validation

Looking for validation in this life is something that can consume one causing them to lose sight of what could be. Recently I realized that I have let that happen to myself. And when I say recently I mean like this week.

Going into the details of my revelation isn’t really pertinent as everyone is unique and therefore so is there life experience. That is kind of what makes our time here a bit interesting. Frustrating at time, but it can also bring extreme joy.

Digressing.

If you are feeling frustrated with a current situation and have been that way for some time, it might behoove you to take a step back and try and find out the real reason why. In my case I pinned a need to feel validated on something that has been a constant in my life since age 12. Work.

Not going down that rabbit hole as to why, no point really. The best thing to come out of it is too know that I can now move forward. The hope is that I can do the second half of life correctly.

Validation is something that can come from a lot of things. Some find it at work, some in religion, community service, perhaps even sitting on their couch saving the world from the digital characters of oppression.

To each their own.

For me? Well I have a wonderful wife who, Lord only knows why, fully accepts me and all that goes with that. She has supported me in everything I have done since we have been together.

And when I say all of it I mean;

World War II Reenacting (aka running around shooting blanks)

Airsoft (aka running round shooting plastic bb’s)

Rugby refereeing

Rugby Coaching

All of that is done (I think, truth be told I miss the running round shooting blanks and bb’s).

Now she is helping me find validation in something I have always to do. Entertain people.

I am doing this by creating stories, of all types. Romance (with a dash of the erotic here and there), Sci Fi, Historical stuff as well. Hell she edits the craziness that I spurt onto the page. Might should use a different word there, to hell with it.

Also this wonderful woman is letting me stretch my boundaries be being a huge megadork.

Opppssss. Spoiler Alert for anyone who didn’t know. I’m a Megadork. Don’t care what you, or you, or you on the couch getting pissed that a 9 year old keeps sniping you think. Truly don’t give a rat’s hairy left nut, or even his right one.

I’m a huge dork, geek, whatever. Who else would try and make a 7 foot tall costume out of exercise mats?

Digression train track one pulling back in to THE POINT? Station.

Find you validation. Be careful where you are seeking it from.  If you think you can’t, take a step back, it might be there beside you just out of your peripheral. Now if your validation comes in the form of something heinous and illegal, report to your nearest law enforcement official and they might be able to help you out.

Also, Thank honey, love ya!

Oh yeah, I also homebrew

Courtesy in Traffic

Pet Peeve time.

Courtesy in traffic.

I have the great luxury of going to work via an Interstate. Some call such ribbons of asphalt highways, freeways, motorways, or even dual carriage ways. The last one kills me.

Really?

Dual Carriageway?

Romanticize much?

Deranged party of one, your table is ready.

In my state I have been told that the traffic law I grew up with has been done away with. For those who are confused, when I was taught to drive it was that one stayed in the right hand lane until a need arose to pass a vehicle. Then one would simply slide to the left, pass said moron, then slide back over into the right lane.

Thus the left lane was free and clear as much as possible. If one did ride in the left lane they might be rewarded with pretty blue light that flashed accompanied by the traditional “WHOOP WHOOP” sound. There two things announced to them that they were the lucky recipients of a friendly chat with an officer of the law. This was due to the fact that they had committed a traffic infraction.

Now I’m not sure why this law went away. I can speculate several reasons but shall refrain, I shall say that unless in a major metropolitan area please have a bit of courtesy and use the left lane(s) as intended.

Now I do have to admit that I myself will sometimes get caught up in whatever and find myself in the wrong lane from time to time. When I am made aware of this, often times by the middle finger of the person behind me, I dutifully get over out of their way. I take their stares and ranting’s in stride as I have earned them be being a selfish idiot.

No harm no foul. I get correctly berated for my stupidity and they get a story to tell their friends to boost their own self worth.

Now for some perspective I shall use the three lanes I get to utilize every day, giving the probable thoughts of the people behind you when you don’t belong in that lane.

Right lane Middle Lane Left lane
Normal person All good I gotta pee, MOVE 3 cups of coffee and two bran muffins…MOVE DAMMIT
Good church going folk All good All good Ok now you’re testing my faith
Trucker I hate you Wanna see tomorrow?? **Insert uncensored Yosemite Sam rant here**
Beamer driver I’m better than you I’m better than you I’m better than you

Samuel L. Jackson disciples

This one is just the words Mutha F***** drawn out to various lengths, the longer it takes to say it the more trouble you are in

Drag Queens

Gurl

GURLLLLLL

Bitch, I am from Chicago

The above is often followed by the words “Bye Felicia” when they finally pass you
Myself Seriously WTF?? Here I would combine pretty much all of the above into this tiny square
Gingers of the world For this take a bit of the Beamer, mix with Samuel Disciples and add a generous dash of Drag Queens and then for good measure sprinkle a few more ‘creative’ phrases

This is of course my own little insignificant opinion and holds no weight in reality. If you should happen to see someone that has Jack Skellington headrests in your rear view mirror having what might appear to be an aneurysm, do us both a favor? As soon as possible please slide gently to the right.

OK? Yeah, thanks.

Who helps who

While watching one of the shows we had DVR’d, something that I had seen countless times before finally struck me as odd. Well, maybe not odd but made me wonder if scenes like that cause people to set unrealistic expectations in their own lives.

The show dealt with a young person who had been horribly wronged, and in an effort to hide the guilt they felt the person used the practiced tactic of avoidance to dismiss the event. Of course, as expected, as time the internal conflict that resulted in this person overcame the walls the person had constructed to entomb the event.

This caused a breakdown to a friend who just so happened to be a high ranking law official. Unfortunately due to choices the victim took, their avenging angel couldn’t take action on the perpetrator. HOWEVER thanks to the magic of the keyboard tapping fingers television writers, the lawyer WAS able successfully make an example of the head of the post secondary (i.e. spensive college) school where this horrid event took place.

When the arrest warrant was delivered, in person by the lawyer, the dean was marched out in cuffs down the front steps of the school for all to see. Then, there in the crowd, was the victim. And in an exchange undetected by anyone else in the crowd, the offended and the justifier had their “thank you, my honor,” moment.

The one who had suffered so much now stood a bit taller, eyebrows lifted a bit, a faint smile of relief pulling the corners of the mouth up ever so slightly. The savior remains stoic standing tall playing off their efforts as they were just doing their job.

NOW, while I truly want nothing bad to happen to people, especially the four or five that will read this post, the whole scene did make me wonder what ideas it puts in people’s heads.

In my experience, the vast depth of which we won’t go into, when something horrid happens to you, don’t hesitate, don’t try and play it off, don’t wait for time to make it better, ACT. Take the steps to correct the injustice.

For those really angry people I should probably clarify that, the LEGAL steps to correct the injustice. This could also work out to ethical or moral steps if the offense is of a lesser nature.

The first person that is going to stand up for you is…… c’mon say it with me….is.     .       . YOU! And I feel I need to add that sadly a large percentage of the time you are the ONLY one that will stand up for you.

With the way the world is, one cannot wait for some mystic knight to ride forth and do thyne battle for thee. Hell, I don’t think that ever really happened. Sad truth.

Besides, most of us don’t have the connections to have a person in position of power who has the time and is willing to expend the effort and money to try and make our lives a little better. Most likely you will get someone who will just hand you off to the next link in an infinite chain.

Of course you may get lucky enough to get a person who** GASP** cares. Which will at first be exhilarating, but soon it will become evident this person is either overwhelmed or no one pays attention to them.

So, stand up for yourself. Don’t be a doormat, cause those end up with shit all over them, and it takes a long time to get that smell out.

Is this cynical? Maybe. Probably. But then that ol’ walk a mile in my crappy worn out, hole in the sole never gonna have a pair of thousand dollar, shoes comes to mind.

End point. Pick your own arse up, dust it off (unless it is evidence), make a plan of action (while adhering to local, moral, or ethical guidelines), and execute the damn thing to the best of your ability.

Oh, and if you are fortune enough to have an excellent support system, praise the ever loving hell out of them!!!!!

The Girls

A few years back the wife and I went to attend our friends vow renewals in St. Augustine Fl. It was truly an event. A party of approximately 20 people all dressed in black, standing right outside the Old Cemetery while a Buddhist Monk presided over the ceremony.

For the passersby it was quite the photo op. A statuesque blonde and a tall brooding devil, two extremely immense intense presences, reaffirming their collective pairing through this life. And probably the next, knowing those two.

Anyways.

The ceremony done, the dinner celebration done, and with a change of clothes out little troop heads off to the St. Augustine Lighthouse Dark of the Moon tour.

Now before I go further I should qualify that I do believe in ghosts. Not going to get into a philosophical debate as to why, I just do period of story. Ok, so not end of story but it was the end of that sentence. Toss of, wankers.

I should also state that at the start of all this I was introduced to my very first real life Witch. ***** SCREAM, HIDE THE CHILDREN*********
Admittedly I was somewhat disappointed as she didn’t have a broom of a cat or anything. Just a very pleasant lady who some might consider a bit eccentric. She had been informed about me and was eager to meet me. Still not sure why that was.

Shaking my hand, “You’ve got to be kidding me. He is off the charts.” She said advising the bride to be renewed? Not sure how to phrase that, bride to be renewed makes it sound like she is getting reupholstered or something.

Bah, you get the point.

I had no real clue as to what she meant.

Back to the tour.

If you ever go they give you the option of renting an EMF meter, that is some ghost buster meter but nowhere near as cool as the one Egon uses in the movie. A small little hand held device with a row of various colored lights at the top and the more of them that light up the stronger the EMF field. I did not have to rent one as my new friend was packing her own gear and handed me one, that she advise had been calibrated by some scientist in a lab in a secret underground bunker somewhere.

Or maybe a guy she knew at work, I can’t remember.

So off we go into the night with our tour guide. Our first stop was the Light Keepers house. The whole group filed in and sat in prearranged chairs. The wife and I sat in the back. I figured someone would jump out, or a ‘ghost’ would fall from the ceiling etc. Being near the back I could make a quick escape and no one would notice any fear pee should there be any.

The tour guide goes through his schpeel. A few of the meters are going off, one maybe 2 lights accompanied by a high pitched tone. It’s mostly dark. The building is old.

Kinda creepy.

Right about the time our lecturer starts talking about a ships wheel sometimes spinning of its own accord. My EMF Meter PEGS! And it sounds like a damned fire alarm.

It didn’t stop. Just solid lights and the deafening tone.   Seriously so loud that the guide had to raise his voice to talk over it.

The freshly minted groom came over with his meter using it like a Geiger counter all around me, and nothing even registered on his.

It was centered directly on me.

I was vaguely aware of heads swiveling and all the eyes, yes every last damned one, taking in the spectacle that was me. I imagine I looked like a pathetic disco, with the pulsating lights and horrendous tone that kind of sounds like an ambulance in its own death throws.

Somewhere to my right I heard witchy woman exclaim, “I knew it.” As she rushed over to me she instructed me to stay calm adding that nothing bad would happen to me. Which is what they tell people who are fixing to have something very bad happen to them.

Counterproductive attempts lesson 5

The odd thing was that I was in fact calm. I mean I want all happy go lucky but I was calm.

Right when the meter had gone off, now this is where it get weird, I felt something jump in my lap or at least the sensation there of. To try and help quantify it, those of you who have kids, remember when they would run and jump into your lap?

Yeah, just like that.

Somehow I knew it was a little girl. How you ask? Well you see when some dies and they don’t want to leave…… yeah I don’t have a fucking clue how I knew, but I did.

I have tried to come up with an analogy but my brain went on strike evidently. Time to look into outsourcing again.

And there she sat, perched on my lap. I could even feel her swinging her legs back and forth.

There was no malice in the feeling, only a little girl who wanted some attention and to have a bit of play time.

I did move seats to make sure this was not some weird trick of the air or other parlor trick and she came right back every time I moved. Truth be told I think I felt her starting to get a bit ticked off the third time I moved.

When the tour guide said it was time to move on I leaned down just like a father, “I have to go now, k? So you go and play, k hun?” And she was gone. EMF meter went dark and thankfully silent.

I can tell you what period her clothes were from, what color her hair was, if she was smiling, if she was horribly disfigured, I have no idea. I don’t generally see these things. It is more of a feeling, queue Blue Swede.

Only when the little girl had left did I notice that I was sweating, and a feeling of being quickly drained hit me. Trying not to stagger, I encountered good natured ribbing from our little group as well as looks of WTF from outsiders.

On with the tour.

Through the basement of the house. Out into the courtyard and onto the light house.

Towering above all surrounding it was the Lighthouse. The white spiraling stripes glowing reflecting the light coming from the surrounding neighborhood.   And everyone filed in.

The offer was given that we could climb the 150 or so feet to the top of the lighthouse. Some went, other went outside.

I felt on overwhelming urge to sit the hell down. My wife indicated that she was NOT going to the top of the spire and sat with me. She chatted with our mistress of magic who repeatedly asked me if I was ok, to which I said “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be? I get the ghost of a little girl in my lap nearly, well every once in a while, Ok so that never happened before but I am fine.”

Laughter. Yes, real laughter from real people even. I checked by poking my wife in the ribs thus stopping the laughter.

The climbers descended and walked out of the tiny building at the base of the light house, and for some stupid reason I decided it was a good idea to climb up now. All alone.

I have never once claimed to be a particularly bright individual.

Up I go.

Alone

In the mostly dark. Sparse light spilling down from above.

For those that haven’t been the staircase is set up a bit differently. They do curl around the curve of the wall, and basically you go up a flight then across a flat landing, up the next flight and so on.

Right when I got to the far side of the first landing, BLEEEEEETTTTTTTT. My old friend the EMF meter flares to life.

“Is she back?” came the question from below.

“Looks like it.”

But something was different. Still felt like a little girl but somehow different. It was a different little girl.

I got the distinct feeling of a playful child again. Tugging my hand forward, up the stairs.

Ya know when they are so excited to get somewhere and are just pulling you as hard as they can to get there faster? Same kind of thing. I found myself actually leaning over, just like when I had young children.

I’m not sure if the giggling I heard was real or a byproduct of my brain trying to rationalize all this but I could swear I heard it.

As I got to the second landing the EMF went dark.

I stood there for a second, puzzled. Then I caught myself asking out loud, “Where did you go?” Some unknown reason I knew she was waiting at the bottom of the next flight of stairs. And my crazy mouth said, “Oh, you’re playing with me huh?”

A disturbing warmth settled over me. Disturbing that there was no reason for this warmth, and it was the exact opposite of all the “cold sensations” I had heard about in relation to ghosts.

Quite simply the feeling was one of love.

Sure enough off to the eager child and sure enough she was there. Tugging me up to the top.

So it went at every landing, then halfway up the last set of stairs she vanished. No sensation at all. I went on out the door to the top railing and there were two other tour guides up there looking at me quizzically.

“We thought there someone just came out here, like a few seconds ago.”

“Oh that must have been the little girl who pulled me up here,” I replied nonchalantly. Hey, at this point I was getting used to it all.

They laughed at my remark. Point at my EMF meter “Was that you making all that noise all the way up here?”

“Sure was.”

“We have never heard anything like that.”

For some reason that rattled me, “Well even though the view is lovely,” really not much to see at night, “I guess I will go back down now.”

Plunging back into the darkness I wondered where my friend went. “Pull me all the way up here and just leave. Some might consider that rude ya know?” Thankfully no one was around to hear me talking to empty space.

About halfway across the top landing I felt something rush past me. Again I could swear I heard giggling, and at the first step down she was there tugging me down the stairs. Still only joy and the playful demeanor of a child was the overall sensation that I got from my ethereal friend.

All the way down I chatted with her. “Do you always play with people who visit here? Do you like staying here? Is that your sister in the house across the way?”

I never got any type of response, but somehow think she liked being asked questions other than, “Do you need help crossing over?” Figured since she had probably heard that one about a hundred thousand times I would change it up a bit.

Then right before I stepped onto the last landing the tugging changed direction. She was trying to pull me up again. “No No honey. I can’t go back up there. My knees can’t take it, besides you know I can’t stay you know that.”

One last tug, just like a kid saying a pouty “fine” and she was gone.

My wife was waiting for me just outside the front door, “I listened to you talking to someone all the way up there. Was it the same girl?”

“Nope, a different one.”

Our alternate spiritual advisor looked at me and said, “Well I knew you were special but this is ridiculous.”

I took two steps forward and practically collapsed on a bench there. I was completely winded, out of energy. Panic started to take over.

“Oh, they like your energy,” our new friend said.

“Great for them, not so much for me,” was my reply.

“Take a minute, you’ll be ok and you are going to sleep great tonight.”

Now the events above can all be verified by multiple independent sources. Does that make it real?

I don’t know. I would like to think it does as my imagination cannot make an EMF meter go off. Especially continually like that.

The words above pale in comparison to what I actually experienced. To do that would be at least novella length story and no one wants that much. When I say I was exhausted, I mean just that, completely exhausted.

I have played and referees rugby ‘til I could barely walk, and this was so far beyond that I am not even sure how to put it into perspective. The only thing close would to suddenly loose someone very close to you, then multiply that by a factor of around….23.453759, then run a marathon, get run over by a truck…you get the point.

I have had experiences prior and since then, but nothing that intense.

Don’t know if you believe or don’t, doesn’t really matter as I do.  If you check you will find that there are two children that reportedly died near the site.  There seems to be some difference of opinion of how old they were.

Jelly Donuts AKA the Evil Ones

I love donuts.

Yup love ‘em.

Should have been a cop I love them so much. Yes, stereotype I know but hey it works.

At the start of every work week we are lucky enough to have a meeting.

“Say it isn’t so,” you gasp.

Yes author friends I know I should have probably made that ‘gasping’ in an effort to show not tell. But not to worry as none of you will probably ever see this. I exorcise my demons here.

Responding, “Yessssssssssssss a meeting.” Sarcasm dripping from every word.

To entice us into the trap of a Monday “what the hell is going on” meeting, the organizer places heavenly sugar coated deep fried dough in the middle of the conference table. Seriously, this couldn’t be more like a spring loaded foothold traps. You can almost see the steel points disguised as mundane office furniture.

I do my best to resist immediately snagging a girth builder. Two reasons for this and yes they sound out dated but was raised with at least a semblance of civility. First being is I am new to the group and therefore in my skewed view of the world haven’t earned the right to lay claim for first dibs. Second being that some have referred to me as a big fella and with that comes the taunts of, “better get something quick before he eats it all”, or “oh no he is going first, there won’t be any left for anyone else.”

Not that I mind the jabs but this is a meeting and on occasion I do try and be professional. All be it a rare occurrence I do try, especially at the start of the week.

So I sit in the corner, yes of my own choosing I sit in the corner, and wait. Allowing the more senior, experience, vested, ya know any way you state that it makes them sound old. Honestly most of them aren’t, but anyways.

Time slowly ticks by. I watch from my hide, like sniper waiting for the wind to be just right, then I execute a snatch and scarf.

As I open the box I see my favorite. A full round bulging disk of fried dough.

Wow, that almost sounded sexual. If I think about it too much, it just might turn out that way. Wait a minute, driving down Pervert Street again. Sorry ‘bout that.

Just beneath the fine granules of sugar I can see the change in color just beneath the delectable surface. Joy wells up from the cockles of my heart. In case your dirty mind misread I said COCKELS of my HEART.

Now who is driving down Pervert Street? Naughty.

I know that contained inside the ‘licious shell of pastry is a gelatinous pool of JELLY!!!!!!!!!!!

Not a nod to Box Trolls, haven’t seen it yet. Want to but such is life.

Why have the Patisserie Gods seen fit to grant me favor? How do I correctly pay thanks to the bounty they have bestowed upon me?

Obviously, it is to cram it my donut deconstruction machine as fast as possible.

Returning to my seat (show not told so there thhhhpphhhhhttttt) I manage to take time to locate the glory hole. Not that one, jebus reprogram the GPS and get off that street. I mean the one where the artist has decorated the donut interior with its wondrous adornment.

Note to all who have not taken this approach, if you don’t manage this it is a sure fire way to rapidly expel the wonderment out of the donut and all over you or someone too close. If you do this and manage to score a hit on the personal space invader that is considered a bonus and you get an extra donut as a reward.

Since I am well versed in this methodology (now we have transgressed into donut management 301 advanced theory) I need not worry about splooshing jelly all over the place.

I begin my consumption of manna from heaven. As I am now over the halfway mark in life I do exercise some control and manage to make this savory experience last three bites. I will say that after the first bite I felt some of the life blood try and escape but being adept I finger flicked the Hogan’s hero rejects back to their fate.

Noticing my hands were a bit extra sticky I excused myself and tromped down the hall 30 feet to the kitchenette. Rinsing my hands and snagging (two shows) some paper towels I return to the meeting.

Upon sitting in the corner one of the higher ups glanced in my direction, then stared. Eyes widening, mouth working wordlessly, a mixture of horror and puzzlement painted his face, “What the…. Did you cut yourself?”

My hand moved of its own volition to the point of his stare. “What are you talking about?” I asked laughing.

My eyes rolled down to check about his inquiry, at that same moment my fingers registered a gooey substance in the vicinity of my abdomen.

Now I will say that when my eyes gained purchase on the scene I somewhat panicked. The first thought, Well shit I w somehow managed to take a shotgun blast to my stomach and crotch. Yes, it was in fact that bad.

Jelly coated my shirt and pants, from my ribs to that area where your thighs are no longer your thighs but it aint your torso either. Hips? No those are the side things, and butt is the back, Non butt, yeah will go with that.

I think I muttered something to the equivalent of “Shit” as I excused myself gathering my pad and pen. Tromp back down toward the kitchenette but decide on the bathroom would be a better place to correct the situation. However, once I gained full clarity of the scene in the mirror I knew it was hopeless.

Ah but empowering my new found since of optimism and trying my best to channel Mr. Tim Gunn, by God I was gonna “Make it work”.

Glancing at floor under the stalls and see no feet I peeled my shirt off. Figuring it is light blue and water won’t show that badly, the jelly was obviously clogging my thought ducts, I thrust the lower half of my shirt under the automatic spout and set to scrubbing.

A few quick minutes later I held up the shirt to check and while evidence of the jelly was gone I now had a horrible tie die job to wear. Turns out that wet light blue and dry light blue are two VERY different shades.

As I was trying to figure out how to deal with this as there are no hand dryers in the bathroom I caught site of my jelly soaked non butt and crotchal area. Tossing my half wet shirt over my shoulder I started to scrub my pants with a wet paper towel.

About this time the door opens. A co worker enters to see me shirtless, scrubbing my crotch clean of what he probably presumed was blood. He hesitates for about 10 seconds, then apparently said to hell with it and came on in. Nervously I begun to explain, “Ya see there was this jelly donut.”

Shutting me down by holding up his hand, shaking his head, “I don’t even want to know.” With that he walked past me and slammed the door to the stall shut.

Feeling defeated for some reason, I gave up further damage control. Using my pad to hide my bloody crotch I returned to my cube. I sat there for about 15 minutes, just long enough for the AC to cool my wet shirt and pants down to a shrinkage level.

I sat there trying to not let the cold cloth touch me, I realized that the Jelly Donut was not a gift from the confectionary forces of light, but bleeding demon seed sent by the forces of chaos to tempt me and lead to the path of darkness.

I mean why the hell else would I end up half naked in a work bathroom scrubbing my crotch on a Monday morning. Especially at my age, I mean if I was I n the 18-25 bracket I could see it but not now.

Having been awake since 0230 I announced, “Fuck it,” probably a bit too boldly, grabbing my gear I went home.

So next time you’re in a meeting and see a Jelly donut. Don’t do it. I would highly recommend judgmentally pointing out the offender and with a righteous tone declare, “Thouest shall not ensnare me with thine evil liciousness vile spawn of chaos” then throw a grenade at it and let the meeting continue.

Current state of affairs

Today several things in the news and on my mind.

Ebola

Stock Market plunge

Healthcare

and the World’s Tallest Cow?

Seriously, didn’t even know that was a thing.

Let’s go to healthcare shall we? Currently I have huge issue with this as I will explain below.

So my wife’s grandmother is currently 81, and we are not quite sure she will make it to 82.

Why you ask? Well last week she had to go to the doctor because whenever she tried to eat or drink, everything would come right back up. So off to the doctor she went.

Odd how not being able to eat or drink leads one to seek the help of professionals.

The doctor did blood work. White blood cell count way up.

I know, shocking, right?

So they decide to do an ultrasound. Now, I am guessing that something other than, “She might be pregnant” led them to do this, I have no idea what that might be.

They found two “spots”. Quite frankly amazed at the term “spots” all that fucking money and time and Spots is what they use, damned ridiculous.

One is 8MM, approximately the size of a grape, and the other 4MM, or half a grape.

So wait, they use actual metric system shit for the size but say “spots”?? My father in law looked up the size and Google is who gave us the fruit reference.

Now the decision is, “Quick boy blunder to the hospital.”

They take forever to see her in the ER, yes that is evidently where you go when you have nothing prearranged.

Hmmmm, maybe that is a new business opportunity, agents for patients to speed the process. Envisioning some sort of Stock Exchange haberdashery in front of the hospital as rooms come open. Really need to look into that.

Sometime after 0300, 3 A.M. to the norms, she is left alone in a room after being poked and prodded and asked insane amount of silly questions.

The next day the doctor, which doctor you ask, not a fucking clue, performs and endoscopy. Nice fancy professional and impressive term, much better than “Spots”. No I won’t let that one go. Fucking “spots”.

During the procedure he finds a pill stuck down in there. Maybe that is why they did the ultrasound…. Inquiring minds….

And along with that little gem, he also found a mass of…..wait for it…..“something.”

AUGGHHHHHHHHHH. Something….something…. she is 81 for hell’s sake. Give her “a mass of unknown specificity”, not “sumthin”.

Fucking “Spots”!!!!!!

A BIOPSY was performed, taken, extracted?? And so the shittiest game of all time started. The Waiting Game.

At first they said the results would be available the next day, Sunday. Then it became Monday, then first of the week.

Oddly enough after the Endoscopy she was able to eat, well an all liquid diet, but still sustenance.

Monday roles around and what do they do with an 81 year old with a grape and half of “Spots” and “sumthin” down near her stomachal region?

Yup, stomachal, hell at least I am trying. Fucking “spots”.

Back to the other. They sent her home. I mean how obvious choice is that. “You are probably very sick, but hey we can’t do nothing for now so get out.”

And then Tuesday came.

And went

And the Wednesday came.

And went.

And now it is Thursday, late.

She has a nurse who is coming out and has told her, “Honey they told me 20 years ago I was supposed to be dead, so don’t worry about it.”

What is my point in all this?

Number 1: Somehow treat the patient a bit better. Compassion needs to be a class or 20.

Selection C: Learn how to communicate effectively with the patient. Do not keep moving dates for results all around.

Yes I know. The system is overtaxed, can’t have sick people laying round, and where else better for them than comfortable surroundings, etc etc.

Guess my main gripe is that things have become too clinical, there seems little to no soul left in the process of caring for the infirmed. The technology is off the charts. More data can be collected, analyzed and conclusions drawn, but from my experiences the patient gets lost in the process. They become a number, a statistic, a line on the chart.

Now for patients in the middle of the age spectrum, this is a bit more tolerable. But for the ones on either end I really think they need to be treated differently. Take a few more minutes with them, explain things with more depth, be accurate with dates and other information.

And while bedside manner cannot really be taught, some attempt should be made. If nothing else some sort of mentoring program.

There was one other thing. What was it?

Hmm

Oh yeah.

DON’T USE THE TERM “SPOTS”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Cricket Bats

My day starts very early, 0400, due mostly to the demands of an aging diabetic pain in the ass cat but there is also the daily drudgery that most face of going to work.

So the following convo happened just the other day. For the sake of my poor wife I wish I could say this was an isolated incident but it isn’t. In fact she seems to enjoy things like this which makes her as odd as I and that is perfect.

…….. a multi note salute and the TV flickers to life…..

A pleasant looking female newscaster smiles declaring, “In today’s headlines. Another patient is diagnosed with Ebola at…”

“Right. That seals it,” I say as my wife is arranging the cat food bowls.

“What?” she mumbles.

“I’m ordering you a cricket bat.”

Looking at me puzzled, again she asks. “What?”

Pointing to the TV screen, I inform her. “I have been thinking about this for a while and this seals it.”

Looking behind me she tries to figure out what I am talking about. “How does another Ebola diagnosis lead you ordering me a cricket bat?”

Looking incredulously at her, my arms flying up in the air I loudly inform her and the cats, “This is what, four of 5 people now here in the states, and it started in a different country. Hello. It is spreading like crazy. It is only a matter of a few days before we have a horde invasion on our hands.”

Laughing at me, “You’re silly. I still don’t see why I need a cricket bat.”

Still incredulous, “You need something to bash them on the head. Did you learn nothing from Mr. Pegg’s portrayal of Shaun?”

Shaking her head she goes back to feeing the cats who could all care less about out eminent demise.

“This is Ebola, not Zombies.”

“Oh you say that now. Just wait. When the disease infested masses are clambering at the front door,” wagging my finger at her, “you’ll be grateful for the cricket bat.”

“And why do I get the cricket bat?”

Ticking off the reasons on my fingers, “You’re smaller than me, you have lighter hair, and your much more nimble than I am. I am more of a blunt lummox, so you are obviously Shawn and I’m Ed.”

Setting the bowls down in front of the mewling children she informs me, “We don’t need a cricket bat. There won’t be any incursion. There are few people with Ebola and that is all. No need to bash them on the head.”

My shoulders slumping, “It’ll be an invasion not an incursion. And Ebola or zombies, doesn’t matter, still say just bash them in the head.”

Shooing me away like a child, “Go. Get ready for work.”

“You take the fun out of everything.” I sulk off to ready myself for another day of being a mindless automaton. “Won’t let me bash anybody’s head in.”

“When the zombie apocalypse happens, I’ll let you have the first crack at them. OK?”

Rapidly clapping my hands together exclaiming, “yeah” I smile at her.

………………………

I truly feel sorry for her somedays.

Facebook Drones

So Facebook wants to launch drones the size of 747s to provide high speed access to the remote regions of the earth. Not sure that is quite where we need to start and my satirical mind zoomed off (big planes, zoom, get it??).

Below is what might possibly happen, in a “The Gods must be crazy” kind of way.

Inspired from http://www.theverge.com/2014/9/24/6839225/facebook-says-its-internet-drones-will-be-the-size-of-747s

10 years from now (again…satire…you’ve been warned)

…a fly lands on a yellowed sclera; a collar bone protrudes from a malnourished torso…

A microphone is shoved into the camera’s view.  The voice of a reporter asks, “So Umbutu can you tell us how the Facebook drones have improved your life?”

Umbutu swats at the fly in his eye. As he starts to speak, the voice of the translator tracks over his voice.

“Well you see it has not impacted me directly, but my son Umbutu JR and daughter Emma now have something to occupy them when they are at the communal well filling up our Exxon plastic jugs.”

The camera pans over to a gaggle of kids,  heads down, thumbs feverishly flicking, the kids don’t even look up from their phones, but talk to each other while on the phones, some laughing lightly others solely focus on the virtual world in front of them.

The camera focuses on a dog. Ribs clearly visible, looking dejectedly at kids on their phones. He is forced to sniff a baby’s hand that sits looking up at the group of pre teens. The dog, seeking attention, forces its snout under the baby’s hand.

“So you say it hasn’t impacted you directly, but that isn’t completely accurate is it?” the reporter asks.

Waiting for the translation Umbutu swats at the fly again. Nodding at the translator he responds, “Oh yes. I guess you are right. I remember a time when the Warlords would come through the village snatching up all the young boys.” Pointing vaguely off to the horizon, “to take them to fight for them for no reason other than their own greed. But now they no longer come. The phones took care of that. See, the overlords cannot get anyone to fight any more. Maybe if they had a Candy Crush battle the children they would come, but I don’t think that will happen,” Umbutu laughs.

The flap over the doorway to a nearby hut is flung open. A woman is speaking rapidly sounding irritated. The camera swings, out of focus momentarily, over to her.

A female translator voice covers her voice. “Umbutu! What is this? Another stupid documentary? Are they asking about those demons in the sky?”

Umbutu steps in front of the camera smiling nervously, “This is my wife, Sharon. She does not think the drones area good thing.”

Sharon shoves Umbutu out of view. “They are a horrible thing. Go. Go and leave us alone.”

The reporter asks, “Why do you think the facebook drones are a bad thing?”

Sharon frowns at the reporter. “Do you live here? Do you see this place?” she asks them spreading her arms wide.

“There is nothing here. Do you see this?” She throws some expletives bleeped by the TV station to the gaggle of kids. They barely acknowledge her.

“You see? The children they are zombies. You want to help us? Make our lives better? Why don’t you start with bringing us clean running water? Then stable electricity? Then the infrastructure to support us? HMMM?”

The obstinate reporter asks, “But the phones can help. You can have video chats with family, friends yes?”

Sharon’s eyes grow wide. Her voice goes up a few octaves, “Chat with family and friends? What is wrong with you? They all live within 15 feet of my hut.”

“Ok but you can get medical help from doctors around the world. Isn’t that helpful?”

“Were you dropped on your head as a baby? What is wrong with you? We did call the doctor once. Umbutu had gotten bit by the hyenas when he was digging up roots for dinner. Do you know what the doctor said? Hmmm?? He said ‘Get bed rest and try to not get bitten again’. What help is that?”

The reporter starts to ask another question, but Sharon’s fingers ball into a fist. She slugs the reporter square in the face. The camera captures his knees turning to jello, unconscious he falls to the ground.

Sharon looks right at the camera, “First we get big white boxes to put food in, and now this…”

The video fades to black.

Being a Smart Ass

This is a feature of my DNA. Yup, I have the Smart Ass Gene. It is the third one, down on the left, just past Dirty Thoughts.

Some say, to include family, that I was raised a Smart Ass. While I can see that, I prefer to think that I studied under two masters of the artistry that is crudely referred to as being an ass or even an asshole.

Honestly don’t get that as the only way being a wisenheimer (Ah Moe, Larry and Curly, and to a lesser extent Shemp, how I miss thee) has anything to actually do with bottoms is the fact that to those who can’t appreciate it often find it painful to be around my type of people.

Something all should know about us S.A.’s, a new group I am thinking of starting, we are all very intelligent. Our quips are not because we feel inferior intellectually, no no no. They are a result of the FACT that we may not know everything, but we have ascertained that others need a reality check.

Think about it. All the time people ask me a seriously stupid question. Now these people know me and they know what they are getting. Why else would someone ask a S.A. their thoughts? They know what they will get, and honest answer delivered in a hilarious manner.

Side Note: the few that don’t know me, well once they see the eyebrow cock up and hear me ask “Do you really want me to answer?” That is me being nice so think before you say “Yes I do.”

Just a few weekends ago I was checking into a hotel for a Tattoo convention. By the by, complete awesomeness that weekend but that is a different blog posting. Anyways back to the now…

As the wife and I were checking in, the young lady behind the counter asked something fairly innocuous along the lines of, “How is your day going?” Now for the normal person they might say something mundane back, or perhaps simply grunt at the question. But not I. Lord knows not I.

I took that opportunity to “kick the tires and light the fires big daddy” of the rocket of Smart Ass. My response was, “Oh everything was just going swimmingly ‘til we missed the exit due to construction, having to go across the river, only to be almost hit by the detour truck. Which allowed us to watch two rejects from Devry College (are they a university now??) put out detour signs while dodging cars.”

I looked over at my wife who was just smiling cause she knew it was too late to abort launch. I continued on as the young lady smiled nervously.

“The one guy should be on the local pigskin team. He had some moves. The other one, a bit portly and older but still fairly spry. You should’ve seen him scamper across two lanes of cars. Looked like a big rabid rat in pursuit of a discarded sub sandwich. So all in all, the day has been a little frustrating but still entertaining.”

The young lady laughed nervously, “Are you all here for the Tattoo Convention?” she asked as she pointed to the gaggle of folks at the bar.

Now this lady could not tell I had any tattoo’s, they don’t show. I launched a S.A. mortar round.

“Tattoo convention?” making my voice quiver sounding fearful. “The devil spawn sent to hurry us all to hell?” Dramatic sweep of the arm, hand to chest fingers spread, other hand brought to forehead. “Whatever shall we do?”

Then I turned to see where she was pointing, her eyes were wide from fear at offending me.

Turning back from the group I changed my entire persona, “Oh, you S.A.id Tattoo convention, sorry,” laughing lightly, “I am used to hearing the more accepted pronunciation of Tattoo. Yes that is why we are here.”

Yes, you read that right. I S.A.id the word Tattoo exactly the S.A.me.

There was another hotel staff at the desk who had been listening to the whole thing. By the time I S.A.id “yes that is why we are here” he was loudly laughing.

The interchange between the clerk and I went on for a few more moments, S.A. rounds and rockets flying all over the place. By the end of it, the other staff member asked me, “Yo man, where you performing this weekend. You are funny funny dude.”

So if you know a S.A., delight in their brilliance. Be warned every once in a while you’ll catch a round or two. Don’t worry bout it. That is one of the ways we show we like ya. Now if you catch 150 rounds in a minute, we either really REALLY like you or perhaps it is time for you to leave.

Yes, you have to leave, we S.A.’s are never wrong, you are. And if we are by some weird happenstance, it’s your fault.

Oh, you want to know my response to his question? Talking into an imaginary microphone, “I’ll be here all weekend. Two shows daily and remember to tip the wait staff, they are working hard to please you.”

I think he actually applauded.