My morning

So today, after inadvertantly putting it off for months, I had an appointment to have my cholesterol, lipids and other stuff checked via blood test for my cardiologist.

I like early appointments and I select them over mid-day ones if I can help it. I cannot STAND missing 3 hours of work sitting in a Doctor’s office lobby in the middle of the day. When I have my regular cardiologist appointments, I make them for 7am so it’s over and it doesn’t waste half the day.

So this morning, the earliest appointment was 8am, so I took that. I got there at 7:30am just to be safe and assure my place in line as FFTGS (First Fucker To Get Seen). I LOVE being FFTGS. That’s how I roll.

This gives me the chance to enjoy some banter with the ladies at the counter / check-in area. Halfway thru my sign-in, which included my agreement that you shouldn’t be charged a co-pay if you’re getting poked with a needle, one of the ladies says “you’re only 38 and you’ve had bypass?”

So I give the 45 second answer, complete with my having formerly been a needlepuss, but now I’m very brave thanks to friendly but pro-needle pricky folks at their practice and at St. Joseph’s of Atlanta. I even told the “I fainted giving blood for my marriage license” story, which they all loved.

Anyway, at 8am all the lab patients get called to a sub-waiting room with no televisions, and we all sit down. That is until one woman says “Have any of you done this before?”

I figure she’s scared, so I say “I have, but not here. It’s no big deal. I’ve had a bypass.”

She replies “No. I mean here. See, that paper they gave you? If you don’t all put that in the basket over there, you’ll never get called.”

By the way, the sign behind the basket said (in all caps) PLEASE PUT PAPERWORK FACE-DOWN IN BASKET.

So we all do that, and for the sake of courtesy, we let her go first. I went second.

It proceeds to take roughly 15 minutes to call the first person, and another 13 to get her blood draw done. Since I had to fast since midnight last night, I am now officially starving to death. Literally. I have had two quarts of water while in the lobby hoping to fool my system into thinking I’m full, but all it knows is that I’ve got to pee again and risk missing my turn by not being there when the nurse calls my name.

Nevertheless, I pee again, and get back (the second time) at 8:27am. My name is called at 8:29am and I hustle in, ask her for an arm preference to which she replies “either.”

I give her the right arm, she looks, pokes, and is done in seconds. I was literally in my car at 8:31am.

On the way thru the way back thru the lobby, the same three gals looked up and more or less in unison shouted “HEY!! You didn’t faint!!! Have a great day!”

Nice.

Before I left yesterday, my boss had said “See you around ten.” I had told my boss in return that if I was here a second past 9am I’d be pissed.

I’ll have you know that I was at the elevator…I mean the stairs…at 8:58am and if I hadn’t fielded a call in the lobby that I didn’t want to drop by walking into the elevator, I’d have been at my desk at 9am.

Thumb’s up to me.

Well folks, the time is drawing near

After doing a good deal of research (and stealing from my friend Ethel), I believe I have selected the person to help me migrate from blogger dot com to wordpress to the blog’s ultimate home:

(drum roll please)

My local police blotter

By registering thru some country-provided website, I am able to enjoy the daily police intake records from my area (complete with accompanying photos).

Now, 99.99% of the time, you don’t know who they are or where exactly they live. But I will say that the .01% of the time that you either know them or of them or their situation, it’s exponentially funny. One example of this is the step daughter of someone I know that’s 21 getting busted for possession of meth and coke while in the company of a meth and coke head 56 year old loser, all while on probation. Another example is the dumb fucker on my nephew’s football team who is 18, despite being in tenth grade. He was recently busted for burglary, which I believe stemmed from either breaking into cars or basements. He was also (more than a little) suspected of absconding with almost every cell phone, wallet or ipod left unattended in the locker room over the last two years.

Oh, there’s another good example where three aspiring MENSA members were busted for breaking into houseboats at Lake Lanier and stealing plasma televisions and similar electronic equipment. Now, these are kids who most assuredly couldn’t keep their parents from catching them masturbating, but suddenly they think they are starring in Mission Impossible 4: committing felonies as teenagers and not getting caught either by the law or running their yaps (This is still a working title by the way).

Anyway, today’s entries made me laugh and I will share them with you with descriptions and charges (but no names or addresses. That’d be rude). I will list the charges and then show the pictures, and you try to guess which person was charged with what:

(edit to add: I would have posted this in a much fancier method if blogger dot com didn’t suck giant elephant balls and was able to post photos once in a blue fucking moon).

Which one do you think was charged with possession of marijuana and which one was charged with DUI and failure to maintain his lane?

(Quite frankly, I think the second guy might have also had a failure to maintain his position in the vehicle or a failure to maintain a shut freaking pie hole when talking with a law enforcement officer).

I mean, look at the second guy. I’ve seen better bandagings done by six year olds on cats. It looks like someone took a handful of Subway napkins out of a glove compartment and slapped them on his bloody head.

Remember the movie 9 1/2 Weeks?

Well, you’re not gonna like this then. Here’s a recent photo of film “star” and “professional” boxer Mickey Rourke.

Holy crap, people. This is the guy that all the girls were damp over just under two decades ago. Whatever happened to the dreamy and mysterious guy from Wild Orchid or Angel Heart? This guy didn’t age gracefully at all. He didn’t start looking mor eand more dignified. He turned into a combination of Mickey Rooney and Doctor Evil.

Oh, and when I googled him to see what movies he’d been in, I got this story:

Hollywood star MICKEY ROURKE has an unusual way of dealing with his anger – he cuts off his finger. The actor was taken to hospital and had to endure eight hour surgery to save his finger. Rourke is no stranger to violence, he trained as a boxer in his youth and took a five year break from his acting career to take the sport up professionally. The eccentric star says, “I cut my little finger off because I thought I didn’t want it. I was angry about something so I decided I didn’t need the end of the little finger on my left hand. “I didn’t cut it off completely – it was still hanging on a tendon – and an English friend, GARY, carefully carried the end of it as we went to hospital to try to rectify the situation. It took the surgeon eight hours to sew it back on. I still can’t bend it properly.”

Ummm….what? He “thought he didn’t want” his little finger?

Jesus Christ, dude. That’s screwed up.

Oh, and while I was looking and reading this story, I found a few more fabulous pictures.

Here’s one of Mickey wearing God knows what staring at Brittney Murphy’s moneymaker.

Here’s Mickey doing his best to look like Karl Lagerfeld.

And here’s one of Mickey looking like a corpse.

When is Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man 2 coming out anyway?

A little photo essay

Yes, it was after moving around 300 bags of charcoal, but this is how bad my psoriasis has gotten in the past two weeks. I’m already finding another dermatologist and hoping this one will be a tic more aggressive.

An oldie but a goodie

(I posted this in January, but I only had two readers then, and I already know my mom’s answers to this).

I was working on the laptop of a guy at my office and we were talking during the “work,” when he said something like “How many jobs have you had?”

“A lot,” I replied.

“I’ve had a lot too,” he said.

I always thought that I’d had a lot of jobs. Then he proceeded to show me a list of all of his jobs. He is a little older than me (maybe five years), but his list of jobs was extensive.

See, since I was 25 years old, I’ve only had two jobs. But between 13 and 25 years of age, I had jobs o’ plenty.

And that got me thinking. How many jobs have I actually had?

And the thing about looking back and trying to remember jobs is that it’s similar to trying to recount or remember sexual partners (I assume). A job / person or two always gets overlooked.

Anyway, just to get the ball rolling, I am going to list jobs that I had over the years to the best of my recollection. If at some point I remember more, I will simply copy and paste the old list into a new entry and add the recently recalled job.

Enjoy everybody!

(I am going from most recent to oldest as best I can).

1. Hardwood Lump Charcoal Sales and Distribution
2. Catering
3. Computer Systems Consultant
4. Network Administrator for world’s largest condom manufacturer
5. IT Tech Support rep for worst RF equipment manufacturer in America
6. Customer Service rep for Primerica Life Insurance
7. Telemarketer (for about 30 minutes)
8. Customer Service Manager for phone-based job listings search company
9. customer service rep for 800 and 900 number service provider
10. Bouncer and Waiter for Atlanta sports bar
11. Customer Service Rep for Mitsubishi in Irvine, California
12. Customer Service Rep for Toshiba in Irvine, California
13. Bouncer and Waiter for Atlanta sports bar
14. Waiter at Buckhead Mellow Mushroom
15. AP clerk for the IRS in Atlanta
16. Stocker for Turtles records and tapes
17. Pizza kitchen and appetizer”chef” at Denaro’s Restaurant in Auburn, AL
18. Pizza Delivery guy for Morton’s Pizza in Auburn, AL
19. Shift Supervisor / area designer for Pizza Hut Delivery
20. Stock boy at Bargaintown in Opelika, AL
21. Landscaper / shrub planter / pinestraw spreader
22. Order taker at Pizza Hut delivery
23. Busboy at Fuddruckers in Atlanta
24. Runner / cleanup guy at J.C. Penny’s in Atlanta
25. Bagboy at Kroger in Atlanta
26. Dishwasher at Mario’s Italian Ristonrante
27. Dishwasher at Swenson’s Ice Cream in Atlanta

I think that might be it. Actually, I’m fairly certain that’s not it at all, but until I hear from someone who hired me or fired me or laughed when they heard about either, this’ll be the list.

How about you? How many jobs have YOU had? Can you list them?

This just came to me in the breakroom.

It’s not often a reasonably funny joke comes to you, or at least it doesn’t happen that often to me. I mean, I think of funny stories, but not Sheckie Green like jokes. But I did today while selecting an item from the complimentary tray our company provides us.

I like my women like I like my bagels.

The smaller the hole the better.

Now, it’s not laugh out loud funny, but it’s not horrid either.

Happy Friday everybody!!

I heart psoriasis

For those who aren’t down with reveling in someone’s complaining about a skin condition, feel free to either hit the “Next Blog” button or just type Storm Large into Google to see this Rockstar: Supernova contestant’s prior “work.”

Now that the disclaimer is out of the way, let’s get on with it.

Until one year ago this past May, I didn’t know how to spell psoriasis or even what it was. Hell, I’m not reallly sure that I know what it is today. I only know that I have it.

Actually, I knew a guy growing up whose father had it (I believe). I know he always had medicine on his arms from his elbows to his wrists and if I am recalling correctly, it was quite similar to what I am enjoying today.

First of all, Psoriasis is NOT contageous. I know that folks don’t know / believe that (since when they see it, most don’t know what it is), and I know that when people see what it looks like on the hands and / or elbows of someone that they don’t know, they look long and hard before ultimately taking a wide berth.

This disease is one of the more mysterious chronic, non-lethal diseases that there are. No one really knows where it comes from, whether it’s genetic or not or what causes it, and there is no cure for it.

According to webmd, psoriasis is:

“Psoriasis is a chronic skin condition that causes skin cells to grow too quickly, resulting in thick, white, silvery, or red patches of skin. The patches range in size from small to large and typically occur on the knees, elbows, scalp, hands, feet, or lower back. Psoriasis is most common in adults, although children and teens may be affected.

Normally, skin cells mature gradually and are shed about every 28 days. New skin cells replace outer layers of the skin surface that are shed or sloughed off during normal daily activity. In psoriasis, skin cells do not mature but instead move rapidly up to the surface of the skin over 3 to 6 days and build up, forming the characteristic patches (plaques).:

What this means in layman’s terms (without the benefit of a digital camera while I am writing this) is that I have what looks like moderate to severe poison ivy on my wrists, elbows and the bottom of my forearms. It’s also on the tops of my toes and my knees to some extent, but not like my fingers and forearms. There is also some peeling and flaking on either side of my nose and in my eyebrows.

Oh, and the palms of my hands look like they are either healing from severe burns or a serious sunburn, complete with peeling after the blistering has subsided.

The other bad part is that my hands are so dry that, even in the summer, the peel, crack, split and even bleed. The webbed portions between my fingers hurts second only to the deep tears in the center of my palms. If I were my friend Robert, I could say that I was the second coming of Christ and that the palm injuries were merely healing from the crucifiction, but I don’t think that would fly with most folks.

I had been dealing with what I thought was just regular old dandruff since college, and it’s been irregular in its frequency and severity over the years. At least until recently.

About 18 months ago, folks I knew pretty well (including friends and family) started asking me about my elbows and suggesting things like loofas and special steroid creams and such. Finally, my SIL referred me to a dermatologist who looked at me for about .00001 seconds before saying:

“You have psoriasis. There is no cure, and anything we treat it with will eventually be rendered useless due to the fact that the psoriasis morphs and becomes resistent to treatments. We will continually rotate treatments for the rest of your life, up to and including daily injections that you will have to give yourself, not unlike those received by a diabetic.”

Wait. Do you mean that at some point, I will have to give myself daily shots for this? Me? The guy that passed out giving blood for his fucking marriage license?

Sweet Christ.

Another fabulous side effect of this disease is this: Psoriatic arthritis. I didn’t even know about this until the last few weeks. I just thought my knees hurt from working out vigorously. But the husband of a friend informed me otherwise. He’s my age, has psoriasis, and deals with the same symptoms, including the arthritis.

From webmed again:

“Psoriatic arthritis is a form of arthritis that sometimes develops in people who have a skin condition called psoriasis. It causes swelling and pain in joints—most often in the fingers and toes—in an irregular pattern that may be different on opposite sides of the body.

Treatment for psoriatic arthritis includes pain medication, patient education, and physical and occupational therapy. Severe cases may require more powerful medication called disease-modifying antirheumatic drugs (DMARDs) or steroid injections.”

So, in addition to treating the psoriasis with shots, I could end up having to get steroid injections? You know….steroids. The things that make people angry, sleepless, bald, and make their dicks small?

Perfect.

Is there anything else?

Oh yeah. It can be made worse by stress (stressed? Me?), drinking alcohol (don’t even say it), and beta-blockers, which are common treatment tools for cardiac patients.

Wow. Why not say that folks that like NASCAR and eating bbq from the Big Green Egg will get it too?

So there it is, folks. When you see me, that’s what’s on my hands and elbows and the backs of my hands and knuckles. Know that I not only hate it, but I am more than a little self-conscious about it.

“So what’s the upside?” you might ask.

First, salt water and sunlight are great for it. I asked if I could be medically required to move to Hilton Head, but he said no. I have been told that I need to hit the tanning bed a couple three times a week, which while a tick gay-sounding, probably wouldn’t be terrible.

The other upside? That’s easy. In discussing the “condition” with my cardiologist yesterday, I came to the quick realization that it was better to be alive and heart-healthy with psoriasis than to be dead, leaving a widow and two fatherless children and NOT having psoriasis.

My pity party is over folks. Look all you want. I couldn’t care less. Hell, wince if you must. But know that I am thrilled to be alive to see you recoil at my condition.

Today was my six month checkup

with my caridiologist.

Actually, it was my 8 month checkup, and it was with some other cardiologist and not my own. I am beginning to believe that my actual cardiologist was either a figment of my imagination or Batman. Either way, he’s someone I haven’t seen I let him stick some tube in my groinal area and poke around in my heart like a kid putting a fork in a wall socket.

I got there half an hour early, was first to be called and had to wait because the doctor I was seeing was late. Go figure.

My blood pressure was 117 over 77, my resting heart rate has gone from 93 bpm to 63 bpm since I last saw someone and my weight is at 208. Oh, my turn-offs are rainy days, girls that smoke and litter. My turn ons are sunny days, girls that read and girls that have a good sense of humor. Oh wait. They also need to have nice tits.

I also asked if I would have to be treadmilling at any future date as a result of this surgery and I was assured that as long as I was doing 4ish miles a day five to six days a week on my own, there’d be no need for that now or in the immediate future.

I do have to go back next Thursday to get my cholesterol checked, but other than that, it’s like it never really happened.

Well, that’s not true. the fact that I now keep the region cleanly shaven is a direct result of the two procedures. And as Dr. Evil likes to say, “There’s nothing quite like the sight of a shorn scrotum. It’s breathtaking, really.”

Happy Thursday everybody.