I am SO there!!!

It's the holiday season. And with the holiday season comes holiday parties. The pinnacle of holiday parties for most of us is the company party. Yes, that fun loving, festive event where the person in the cubicle across from yours dances on the table just before telling the VP he's an ass and throwing up in the punch bowl. It is simply a 'must attend' event. After all, you don't want to be hearing from someone else about the scandalous dress that Mary Beth wore, or about how Bob did a face plant while trying to leap onto the stage for karaoke. Right? That shit is too good to miss.

Of course, the reason I bring this up is because our company is having it's Holiday Party this weekend. I was torn about whether I should attend until I saw the announcement today reminding us to purchase our tickets. It included all the usual information. Date, time, place, ticket price, dress code,etc. But the thing that caught my eye... the thing which clinched it for me was the menu.

There were two items in particular which got my attention. The first was the fact there would be an open bar for 4 HOURS!. This almost certainly guarantees that someone will get drunk and show their ass before the night is over.

The second, equally important menu item was the "Dessert Flambe' Station".



An open bar and flaming desserts. Now THAT is entertainment. It has "America's Funniest Home Video" written all over it. Not only do I plan to be there. I'm bringing my video camera, my digital camera and my cell phone with the emergency fire and police numbers pre-programmed.

Note to self: Sit near an exit.

What If The President Had To Do An Exit Interview?

HR Rep: Mr. President. As you know, all government employees are required to do an exit interview before leaving. This includes elected officials.

Bush: What? I was elected? I thought Barrack won.

HR Rep: No Mr. President. You didn't run. You're only allowed two terms as President and you've served your eight years. We need to do an exit interview with you.

Bush: Okay, which is it? Two or eight? First you said two, then you said eight. Stop trying to confuse me with numbers. You know I don't like numbers.

HR Rep: (sighs audibly) Yes sir.

Bush: So Barrack won?

HR Rep: Yes sir, I'm afraid he did. Now, may we please get back to...

Bush: So I wasn't elected?

HR Rep: No sir. You didn't even run.

Bush: Are you shittin me? I didn't run? Why not? I would have kicked his ass.

HR Rep: I'm sure you would have sir but you weren't allowed to run. So about this exit interview...

Bush: Why wasn't I allowed to run?

HR Rep: Well sir you already served... ummm.. well, it's the law Mr. President. You just couldn't.

Bush: Well hell, I should have vetoed that law. Is it too late to veto it? I'm the pres, i can do that right?

HR Rep: Actually sir it's part of the Constitution. The twenty-second amendment. Passed in 1947 and ratified in 1951.

Bush: Yea, probably too late to veto that sucker now. I guess those damned Democrats slipped one through on us. But hells bells, I never paid any attention to the Constitution before, why start now? We need to hold the elections again. I need to run. McCain effed it all up.

HR Rep: Yes sir.

Bush: Why are you here again?

HR Rep: It wasn't important sir. I'll come back later. Probably on January 21.

Bush: Good idea. Send Cheney in on your way out. I need to run this election do-over thingy past him, see what he thinks.

HR Rep: Yes Mr. President.

Modern Day Mystery

Why is it that if we let a cup of hot coffee sit and get cold it is poured down the sink or otherwise discarded...

but we'll stop at Starbucks and pay $4.75 for a cup of iced coffee?

Now you want to go to Starbucks don't you? Yeah, thought so.

Casual Friday?

Today is casual Friday. The problem I have with that is that in most offices it is next to impossible to distinguish 'casual' Friday from any other day of the week by simply observing the way the employees dress. Unless you're a lawyer, or a preacher, or a member of the Geek Squad, if you're a guy you probably wear jeans and a t-shirt to work every day. Or maybe slacks and a polo type shirt. But what you don't wear is a tie or a sports coat, and you sure as hell don't wear a suit.

I propose it's time to change that. It's time to swing the pendelum the other way. It's time for a sort of anti-revolution. And we can start by bringing back the tie.

I started my own personal revolution last Monday. I wore a tie.

It was fun. Everyone assumed I either had to go to court or that I was going to go interview for another job on my lunch hour (as if i would give up the gravy train job I already have). I created quite a buzz. Then I did it again Tuesday and Wednesday. But by Wednesday there was a noticable change in my co-workers attitude. It was subtle but unmistakable. The 'joking' about my ties was starting to show a little stress. There was some tension in the air. I wasn't playing by the rules.

I think when I showed up yesterday in a tie that some people were beginning to become annoyed. They just don't get why I'm wearing ties every day. There HAS to be a reason right? Why would anyone in their right mind wear a neck tie if they didn't have to? Right?

Even though today is casual Friday I'm wearing a tie again. Yea, i know... that's just not right. But in a revolution, there are sacrifices which must be made. Right?

I had a nuclear stress test done today. I won't bore you with the details of why it was necessary (I personally don't think it was) but there were some interesting moments I thought I'd share. You know, in case you ever have to get one done yourself.

When you schedule your test they give you a piece of paper with some instructions and a long list of do's and don'ts. For example you should wear comfortable, loose fitting clothing with no metal clasps, zippers or buttons.

So basically, they want you to show up in your pj's.

But what you shouldn't do is have any caffine for the 24 hours prior to your appointment. The nurse points this out to me. I give her a look like, "You're effin kidding me." She wasn't.

So this morning I hauled my caffine depraved ass out of bed, showered, brushed my teeth, put my pj's back on and headed over to see the doc.

After a considerable wait (no surprise there right?) I'm called to the back to receive my injection of radio isotopes. That would be the 'nuclear' part of nuclear stress test. When the nurse told me she'd be injecting me with the radioactive stuff I perked right up. After all, didn't a lot of the super heros get their powers from some type of radioactive problem or accident? Spiderman was bitten by a radioactive spider, the Hulk was accidentally exposed to a mega dose of Gamma Rays... you get the idea. If it worked for them it could work for me right?

Since I'd have to actually get two injections (woohoo, i'm almost guaranteed super powers) she put an IV into the back of my hand. That hurt like hell! Then I got my first dose of radioactive stuff. She warns, "It may be a little cold." Ummm, no. It was a LOT cold. In fact, I'm pretty sure it was mixed with ice water.

Then it was back to the waiting room to wait some more. I should point out that the piece of paper i referred to earlier had also warned that the test would take four to six hours to complete. Little did I know that 5 of those 6 hours would be spent in the waiting room.

Finally, i'm called back and taken to a dimly lit room with a big machine in it. The machine consisted of a large metallic ring pierced by a long, thin metal table. Yeah, the sexual symbolism was unmistakable. I was told to lay on the table with my arms extended over my head and the table was moved into position. A belt was placed around my pelvis. I was given no explaination for this so I can only guess this was to prevent my beans from being cooked by the x-rays.

When that was over I was taken to another room which i'm sure they used as a meat locker when not giving stress tests. It was almost cold enough to be able to see my breath. I'm told to raise my shirt while some self adhesive contacts are placed on my sides and chest. I'm pretty sure they had just been pulled from the freezer. I look down as the nurse begins to clamp wires onto the contacts and notice my nipple is shaped just like the contacts. I pray the nurse's vision is good.

I sit in a chair and wait.

The doctor scurries into the room, looks at me and says, 'Why aren't you on the treadmill?' He's genuinely irritated. I started to say, 'I'm sorry! I didn't realize it was a self administered test.' but before I could even form the first word he grabs the handfull of wires dangling from my chest and begins to walk toward the treadmill. I'm a fairly bright guy and I realize that if I don't follow, and quickly, that every one of those contacts attached to my chest is going to be ripped right off. I jump to my feet and follow.

The doc studies the paper spilling out of the ECG machine. I wonder if he really knows what all those squiggly lines mean but I know better than to ask. I assume he does. After less than a minute he leaves. I never see him again.
When that's over it's back to the waiting room. Then, another round of cat scans on the penis/vagina machine. Then an ultrasound of my heart which was pretty cool. Then I'm done. Total time in the doctors office was about 4 1/2 hours. The test itself took about 20 minutes.

I have no idea what the results were. I'll find out next Monday. I can report though that as of this writing I have no discernable super powers.I don't even glow in the dark. (i checked) What I DO have is a super headache from going a whole day with no caffine.

I'll update you as soon as i have more info.

Life in a box

My parents are both gone now. My dad passed away in April. My mom in September. Being an only child it fell to me to pack and relocate the contents of their three bed room apartment. As you might imagine this was not an easy chore.

For a year, while they were ill, I had been making decisions for them. Decisions about their care, decisions about their finances, decisions about almost every aspect of their lives and decisions about their death. And now I had one final decision to make. What to do with their stuff?

Some of it I moved to my own home. Some of it I gave to my children. Some to friends and relatives who I thought would have a strong connection to particular items. Some of it I threw away. But the majority of it went into boxes.

Among the things I boxed up was a box labeled "Mom". It was in my mother's closet, tucked away on the top shelf among other small boxes. Inside of it were things pertaining to my grandmother. (My mom's mom.) It was a relatively small box with pictures, some letters and notes, a card from her funeral service, some jewelry and her obituary from her hometown newspaper.

There it was. Her entire life in one small cardboard box.

I carefully sifted through it and when I was done I put the lid back on it and packed it away inside of another box.

Now my parent's lives are in boxes. I am done.

As time passes I will go through those boxes, culling out the un-important, disposing of those things which no longer have meaning to me. And at some point, I will have distilled each of their lives into a single cardboard box.

Then, some day, when I am gone and my children are placing my life in boxes, they will find those single boxes. They will carefully sift through the contents. Some of it will make them smile, some will make them sad. And when they are done, they will close the lid and put them inside another box with my stuff and the process will start over.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

Eventually, my life too will reside in a single box. I wonder what will be in there?

My Favorite 'Oh Shit!' Moment This Week

My favorite "Oh shit!" moment for this week was generously provided by Lindsey Evans.

You probably know her better as Miss Louisiana Teen.

Yes, it seems that with only days left before her reign was over, Evans decided to try her hand at crime. After all, what was she going to do after she gave the crown back? Might as well learn a new trade.

So her and three of her friends decided to dine and dash. After running up a $46.07 tab they bailed and ran without paying a dime (allegedly). I'm sure they laughed and giggled for blocks until Lindsey suddenly realized that she had left her pocketbook behind.

Say it with me boys and girls... "OH SHIT!"

Well, the dumbass, errr... suspect went back to the scene of the crime to try to retrieve her purse. The police were, of course, waiting for her and her friends. They would have probably let Lindsey go with a stern lecture (her friends all swore that she had paid her part of the tab) except for two little problems. 1) she admitted that she had paid nothing and 2) she had a couple of fatties stashed in her purse (allegedly).

Yeah, I'm thinking crime is not a good career choice for the young Miss Louisiana Teen. Successful criminals must be daring AND SMART!

A co-worker calls me. "Hey Dave. Want to play in a softball tournament?"

• I remember that I haven't played softball in a really long time.
  
• I forget why that is so I answer, "Sure!".

The day of practice...

• I remember that I'm going to need my glove and bat.
  
• I forget where I put them the last time I used them. In fact, I'm not sure i even remember what they look like.

I show up for practice and begin warming up...

• I remember how to throw a ball.
  
• I foget how important stretching is, especially at my age.

We finish warming up and begin practicing fielding the ball. I start out in the outfield. A fly ball comes my way and I begin to sprint towards where I think I need to be to catch it.

• I remember now why stretching would have been a really good idea.
  The pain that is shooting up the back of my leg will serve to remind me for the rest of the evening that next time I should stretch first.
  
• I forget that I'm not as quick as i once was and the ball drops untouched in the outfield. I'm bent over, hands on knees, wheezing and looking at it like it's a big white turd. I pick it up and throw it in.

Its my turn to practice batting.

• I remember to keep my eye on the ball.
  
• I forget that my eyesight is now iffy at best.

I take a mighty swing... and miss.

• I remember that cracking sound my back makes as being a really bad sign that something isn't quite right.
  
• I forget that intense pain will follow shortly and I'll wonder why my back hurts.

I take another swing... and make solid contact with the ball.

• I remember to follow through. I am pleased with my effort and stand admiring the flight of my well hit ball.
  
• I forget that I'm supposed to be running to first base.

I'm asked if I want to give playing first base a try.

• I remember that you don't have to run very much when you play first. I tell them, "Sure!"
  
• I forget that I don't have the hand/eye coordination of a 20 year old anymore and that it hurts like hell if you miss catching a ball being thrown to/at you at a velocity approaching the speed of light. SOFTball my ass, that thing felt like a brick.

I'm driving home from practice. The pain and stiffness is beginning to set in.

• I remember now why it's been a really long time since I played softball.
  
• I forget to take my exit off the freeway.