I realize that I kind of give away the outcome when I talk about Sylvia being my wife. Not too much mystery there, but there are still some things that I haven't mentioned about our meeting. If you'll bear with me, I will tell you about them now. It started with hello...
I'm sure if anyone beside Sylvia answered I would have passed out, hit my head on the desk, and slipped quietly into obscurity...as opposed to the world renowned blogger you have before you. Sylvia answered with "hello."
"Umm, hello. You don't know me but I'm Jeff Garrett. My mom is Jeane Garrett. She told me you were looking for something to do on New Years. I don't know if this is something you'd like to do but I was going to a friend's house and you are welcome to come if you like."
"Umm..."
"Its low key, just hanging out, there will be food. Music too. We'll watch the ball drop from Dick Clark's Rockin Eve."
"Which brother are you? Do you drive the red and white car?"
"YES!" (She knew who I was...and she was secretly waiting for me to call....not really but I hoped)
"Where is their house?"
"In Fremont near the lake."
"Well..."
(I'm losing it! Talk more! ...yeah that'll help) "It's not a big thing. It isn't even important to
me that we stay til midnight. I'm easy. If you're ready to leave at ten, we go. No big deal."
"I think I could go."
"Ok! Well I can pick you up or you could drive so you don't feel stuck if you hate it."
"No that's ok, you can drive."
"All right, . just tell me ... " (the usual info portion goes here) I hang up, exhale, and bump my head on the ceiling... from floating!
Then the panic set in. What would I wear? How will she like riding in the "Zebra" (my name for my car)? Is she sure I'm the guy she thought she was talking to? Is she allergic to country music? Will I be able to not shout..."I've got a date!" when my coworkers come back from lunch...and give away the fact that I am not as cool, calm, and collected as I think they think I am? No time for this...I've got to get ready...mentally!
Let's jump ahead to that night when I pick her up. I had found a penny that day. While I don't believe in "luck," I am terribly cheap. I picked it up. (and then I said the 'luck' rhyme just in case) When I knocked at the door to her parents' house I thought, "Holy cow! I am meeting her parents on our first date! This is like I'm a teenager!" When the fact of the matter is, I was a twenty-ager. I was nervous, scared, worried, excited, hopeful, worried again, and then thought, "I set this up to be a place she could hang out with people...maybe she doesn't think this is a date and just wants to be friends." (the story of my life)
The door opened and there was Sylvia. Wearing her European outfit that was off-white, stylish, and had buckles going down either side. (I do realize that a large portion of my readers just said, "Awwwww, he remembers." That's nice. Sylvia, on the other hand...doesn't remember. That's ok Hon, I remember enough for the both of us. I met her mom, nice. German accent (but don't try to tell her she has one) and her dad...the gruffest man I had met to date. I have no idea if he had an accent...I think his part of the conversation was, "Hmmph."
We scooted over to my friends' house and walked in. As we turn the corner to join the majority of the people, John says, (I swear!) "Jeez Jeff, Another girl?! Do you bring a different one every time you come here?"
Allow me to explain...I had a car. I had a lot of friends from church, who were girls, who did not have a car. I also had (I suspected) "JUST FRIENDS" permanently branded somewhere on my hide, that I couldn't see but was obvious to every female on the planet. I was mortified. Sylvia was intrigued. I didn't find out until much later that this actually helped me! She thought I was hot property! (She would have gotten that wrong on final Jeopardy)
After the usual intros and snack foods, Sandy (my friend) says, "Sylvia, did you bring your suit? We're going in the hot tub." This was the first time Sylvia was upset with me. (sort of) I hadn't told her they had a hot tub. I told her I didn't think she would want to go in a hot tub, at a stranger's house, on a first date. Wrong.
So here we are on our first date, in the hot tub, in borrowed suits. I thought, this girl is kind of exciting! I had never assumed that anyone could be so self assured and confident. I wish to know her better. And by the way, Hubba Hubba! (Sorry to get so graphic...I know I should have warned the younger readers)
We are out of the hot tub, dry, and we have moved way past my mythical escape time of ten o'clock. In fact we are counting down with about a million people in Times Square 10...9... I moved closer to Sylvia because, wasn't there something that happened around midnight on New Years? 3...2...1! I leaned closer, we were face to face, and I whispered "Happy New Year." What? It was our first date...in reality it was my first real date. I wasn't going to kiss her! Later in life she told me that she would have kissed me...I blew it!
When I brought her home we sat in my car in the driveway for hours talking, laughing, getting to know each other. Then we made plans to go to a movie tomorrow. As she got out of the car I said, "You know...technically it is tomorrow." She said, "OK, call me later today."
And I floated home.
Love You Sylvia, Happy Anniversary!
Playing with words is fun. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I do writing them!
Friday, December 17, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Someone Owes Me A Goat!
The final and awesome truth is that Sylvia and I are the product of an arranged marriage. And her family has never given my family the goat they owe us! Well, that's what I tell people anyway. Allow me to back up. No, seriously, move aside, I want to back up...beeep beeeep beeep beeeep...Now, I will tell you...on the day before our anniversary...the real story.
I will start from the beginning. I owe you that much. I mean my wonderful readers have very nearly paid for the entire gag gift that I brought to my Christmas party last night. (Well, the ad place doesn't send checks for less than 10 dollars so...still crossing my fingers!).
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was just after Christmas and my brother and I were both at my mom's house when Mom walked in. The conversation is between Mom and I. Dan was a semi-uninterested bystander.
My mom said something like, "Oh good. You are both here. I was wondering what you guys were doing for New Years."
"Going over to the Hardy's. Nothing big. Why?" (I was a little tentative...my mom has been known to ask questions that were precursors to other questions.) Here it came.
"I have a friend who is looking for something to do."
"Sorry Mom. You still have a friend who is looking for something to do." (I was a little snarky..even back then.)
"No! I mean Sylvia."
"......blank stare......."
"Sylvia" and then she said the magic words that would forever change my life... for the better..."The girl who works in the nursery with Pia."
It turns out Sylvia, my mom explained, had just broken up with her boyfriend (Let's call him, "The moron who let Sylvia get away") and did not want to be alone on New Years.
I also need to explain that Sylvia, and this is important, was being paid to work in the nursery...by my mom! You see, money did change hands in order for me to get married. I think the dowry usually goes the other way but my mom was desperate to have a son not live in a cave.
I had to act fast. I always knew that my brother Dan, who was younger than me, was a little smoother than me around the fairer sex. I glanced at him to see if he was charging toward my mom to get this secret information. I expected a brother/brother wrestling match. He was lost at, "one of my friends..." and didn't have the funny reply skills I did. (That was my edge) I was in perfect position. He was farther away and wasn't looking over at Mom. I nonchalantly said, "Oh, I guess I could give her a call and see if she wanted to go too." Inside, I was doing the happy dance and shouting "goody goody goody!" I was not very smooth back then. Ask anybody. No seriously, ANYBODY! I had no skill set other than, I was a nice guy who people could talk to.
Back to the impending, unbelievable date.
In my head I was thinking, there's no way on God's green Earth that she would want to go to a party like that. It was a large collection of my friends, to a stranger's house, on New Year's Eve...no way! (but what I meant was, there's no way I would ever go to something like this so of course no one else would either) I took the phone number to work the next day. I had to work up the courage to call her. I was also petrified that she would, because she's awesome, find something to do in the time that it took me to develop a backbone. The problem was, I worked in a warehouse. With warehouse workers. Guys who come to work and say, "Not sure where this tattoo came from." (seriously) and "I was gonna stab her but didn't want to go to jail so I stabbed the table...that's when my hand slipped and I had to get stitches." (Again, seriously) I tried to pretend that I was a man (ahem) of the world. I was fooling no one of course but they let it slide. If any of them heard my stumbling attempts to talk to a girl on the phone, I would have had to quit, change my name, and move to Abu Dhabi.
That day I volunteered to work the lunch shift at the parts counter. It could be hectic or it could be boring but it was always devoid of other workers (and their tattoos). If it was slow, I figured I would be able to sneak a call to have Sylvia say, "Yeah, I know who you are...click. Hummmmmmmm" and then I could go back to my Cave Digest magazine to see about new decorating tips.
Slow day...not a soul in the place...the phones were silent...my pounding heart was not. I had planned out everything I was going to say, unlike when I write the blog, and I went into my boss's office to make the call. His was the only private room in the place. Dial, sweat, dial some more, ring...if I have to leave a message I'll die...
"Hello"
I will start from the beginning. I owe you that much. I mean my wonderful readers have very nearly paid for the entire gag gift that I brought to my Christmas party last night. (Well, the ad place doesn't send checks for less than 10 dollars so...still crossing my fingers!).
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was just after Christmas and my brother and I were both at my mom's house when Mom walked in. The conversation is between Mom and I. Dan was a semi-uninterested bystander.
My mom said something like, "Oh good. You are both here. I was wondering what you guys were doing for New Years."
"Going over to the Hardy's. Nothing big. Why?" (I was a little tentative...my mom has been known to ask questions that were precursors to other questions.) Here it came.
"I have a friend who is looking for something to do."
"Sorry Mom. You still have a friend who is looking for something to do." (I was a little snarky..even back then.)
"No! I mean Sylvia."
"......blank stare......."
"Sylvia" and then she said the magic words that would forever change my life... for the better..."The girl who works in the nursery with Pia."
It turns out Sylvia, my mom explained, had just broken up with her boyfriend (Let's call him, "The moron who let Sylvia get away") and did not want to be alone on New Years.
I also need to explain that Sylvia, and this is important, was being paid to work in the nursery...by my mom! You see, money did change hands in order for me to get married. I think the dowry usually goes the other way but my mom was desperate to have a son not live in a cave.
I had to act fast. I always knew that my brother Dan, who was younger than me, was a little smoother than me around the fairer sex. I glanced at him to see if he was charging toward my mom to get this secret information. I expected a brother/brother wrestling match. He was lost at, "one of my friends..." and didn't have the funny reply skills I did. (That was my edge) I was in perfect position. He was farther away and wasn't looking over at Mom. I nonchalantly said, "Oh, I guess I could give her a call and see if she wanted to go too." Inside, I was doing the happy dance and shouting "goody goody goody!" I was not very smooth back then. Ask anybody. No seriously, ANYBODY! I had no skill set other than, I was a nice guy who people could talk to.
Back to the impending, unbelievable date.
In my head I was thinking, there's no way on God's green Earth that she would want to go to a party like that. It was a large collection of my friends, to a stranger's house, on New Year's Eve...no way! (but what I meant was, there's no way I would ever go to something like this so of course no one else would either) I took the phone number to work the next day. I had to work up the courage to call her. I was also petrified that she would, because she's awesome, find something to do in the time that it took me to develop a backbone. The problem was, I worked in a warehouse. With warehouse workers. Guys who come to work and say, "Not sure where this tattoo came from." (seriously) and "I was gonna stab her but didn't want to go to jail so I stabbed the table...that's when my hand slipped and I had to get stitches." (Again, seriously) I tried to pretend that I was a man (ahem) of the world. I was fooling no one of course but they let it slide. If any of them heard my stumbling attempts to talk to a girl on the phone, I would have had to quit, change my name, and move to Abu Dhabi.
That day I volunteered to work the lunch shift at the parts counter. It could be hectic or it could be boring but it was always devoid of other workers (and their tattoos). If it was slow, I figured I would be able to sneak a call to have Sylvia say, "Yeah, I know who you are...click. Hummmmmmmm" and then I could go back to my Cave Digest magazine to see about new decorating tips.
Slow day...not a soul in the place...the phones were silent...my pounding heart was not. I had planned out everything I was going to say, unlike when I write the blog, and I went into my boss's office to make the call. His was the only private room in the place. Dial, sweat, dial some more, ring...if I have to leave a message I'll die...
"Hello"
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
She Said What?!
Who's that new girl? Pia was the icon in the church nursery for years. Now there was someone new? She was exceptionally cute and I had a smallish crush on her from the first time I saw her. I would wave and smile at her when I walked by the wall of windows. I was always thrilled when she would smile and wave back. And she did! Every week! The whole exchange took about 5 seconds. Honestly, it was the highlight of each and every of my uneventful weeks.
Occasionally, while I was teaching the kindergarten level Sunday school (imagine that) she would take one of the little ones out for a stroll and would pop into my classroom for visit. She wanted to get to know me better. I say this, now, because she told me that's what she was doing. I, of course, (guy...clueless!) had no idea. I seriously thought the kids in the nursery needed to stretch their legs...even though Sylvia was carrying them. (Have I mentioned in the last five minutes that I was/am pathetic?) I had no idea that she was trying to talk to me...or to get me to talk to her. I would get nervous whenever she came in. I would turn beet red. And after a while, she would take the little guy or girl back to the nursery to wait for the parents to get out of church. As a side note...some of those little guys and girls now have little guys or girls of their own. My kindergarteners too!
I found out (later) that when I would bring my mountain bike on the rack on top of my car she would try to think of a way to tell me that she also liked to ride bikes. She never did. I would change, in the bathroom, into my embarrassingly clingy bike outfit, it had an extra amount of padding in the seat, and then take off into the sun. Never once did I say, "Hey, you like riding too? Let's go for a ride." Not once!
I also found out (later) that she had wondered, aloud, if she should talk to me first. Pia, the elderly matriarch of the nursery, would immediately say, "NO! He is ze boy. He should talk to you.!" (Me, now, She said WHAT!?) She had an awesome accent but, I think it may have been helpful if she had allowed Sylvia to come over to talk to me. It was not my style (who am I kidding, I had no style...and very little now). My friends would try to help me. "TALK TO HER!" Uh uh. Not gonna happen. What good comes from me turning red, feeling like passing out, and then running away making reference to some obscure fact that had nothing to do with anything! None, that's what! Besides, if I never talk to her then I can remain alone and then I can show my friends that I was meant to be alone...in a cave...with my Togo's sandwiches (hot #7 with mustard and lettuce in case you were wondering) and Dr Pepper. See!!?
I even got a fortune cookie once when I went out to Chinese food with my roommate Craig. I am sad to say that the actual slip of paper has been lost in numerous moves but the sentiment was, "Someone you know of, likes you." At the restaurant I said, "Wouldn't it be great if it was Sylvia from the nursery at my church!" Craig then said something like, "Maybe it is...talk to her!!" He was always annoyingly accurate in what should be done and I was aggravatingly stubborn telling what I could do. So there I was, not going to mention anything to anyone (especially not Sylvia) and me, with a fortune cookie slip under a magnet on the upper right hand corner of our fridge...mocking me.
I am sad to say that it went on like this for a while. Actually it was quite a while. Go ahead and guess how long. No really, I'll wait.
Theme to Jeopardy here....
Did I mention that it was quite a while? I meant to say that it was a ridiculously long time!
Jeopardy finishing up...doot doot dun!
7 years! Yup, that's right, 7 years. I am deliriously happy with how everything worked out, but I wouldn't recommend this strategy if I was writing a book on how to meet women. (Although I might if that's what it would take to finally get published...kidding) Yup, seven pathetic years (on my part). Sylvia went on with her life of course and I had a fortune cookie paper on my fridge.
So, unfortunately. this is also not "how we met" and I am afraid that for that you will need to keep tuning in. Aren't I deceptively sneaky! Come on! Our anniversary isn't until Friday! I feel that I should tell you, because I am having guilt over lying...not really. In the Chinese restaurant with Craig, I never said, "Wouldn't it be great if it was Sylvia from the nursery at my church!" I said, "Wouldn't it be great if it was that girl from the nursery at my church!" Seven years and I never even knew her name! True story!
Occasionally, while I was teaching the kindergarten level Sunday school (imagine that) she would take one of the little ones out for a stroll and would pop into my classroom for visit. She wanted to get to know me better. I say this, now, because she told me that's what she was doing. I, of course, (guy...clueless!) had no idea. I seriously thought the kids in the nursery needed to stretch their legs...even though Sylvia was carrying them. (Have I mentioned in the last five minutes that I was/am pathetic?) I had no idea that she was trying to talk to me...or to get me to talk to her. I would get nervous whenever she came in. I would turn beet red. And after a while, she would take the little guy or girl back to the nursery to wait for the parents to get out of church. As a side note...some of those little guys and girls now have little guys or girls of their own. My kindergarteners too!
I found out (later) that when I would bring my mountain bike on the rack on top of my car she would try to think of a way to tell me that she also liked to ride bikes. She never did. I would change, in the bathroom, into my embarrassingly clingy bike outfit, it had an extra amount of padding in the seat, and then take off into the sun. Never once did I say, "Hey, you like riding too? Let's go for a ride." Not once!
I also found out (later) that she had wondered, aloud, if she should talk to me first. Pia, the elderly matriarch of the nursery, would immediately say, "NO! He is ze boy. He should talk to you.!" (Me, now, She said WHAT!?) She had an awesome accent but, I think it may have been helpful if she had allowed Sylvia to come over to talk to me. It was not my style (who am I kidding, I had no style...and very little now). My friends would try to help me. "TALK TO HER!" Uh uh. Not gonna happen. What good comes from me turning red, feeling like passing out, and then running away making reference to some obscure fact that had nothing to do with anything! None, that's what! Besides, if I never talk to her then I can remain alone and then I can show my friends that I was meant to be alone...in a cave...with my Togo's sandwiches (hot #7 with mustard and lettuce in case you were wondering) and Dr Pepper. See!!?
I even got a fortune cookie once when I went out to Chinese food with my roommate Craig. I am sad to say that the actual slip of paper has been lost in numerous moves but the sentiment was, "Someone you know of, likes you." At the restaurant I said, "Wouldn't it be great if it was Sylvia from the nursery at my church!" Craig then said something like, "Maybe it is...talk to her!!" He was always annoyingly accurate in what should be done and I was aggravatingly stubborn telling what I could do. So there I was, not going to mention anything to anyone (especially not Sylvia) and me, with a fortune cookie slip under a magnet on the upper right hand corner of our fridge...mocking me.
I am sad to say that it went on like this for a while. Actually it was quite a while. Go ahead and guess how long. No really, I'll wait.
Theme to Jeopardy here....
Did I mention that it was quite a while? I meant to say that it was a ridiculously long time!
Jeopardy finishing up...doot doot dun!
7 years! Yup, that's right, 7 years. I am deliriously happy with how everything worked out, but I wouldn't recommend this strategy if I was writing a book on how to meet women. (Although I might if that's what it would take to finally get published...kidding) Yup, seven pathetic years (on my part). Sylvia went on with her life of course and I had a fortune cookie paper on my fridge.
So, unfortunately. this is also not "how we met" and I am afraid that for that you will need to keep tuning in. Aren't I deceptively sneaky! Come on! Our anniversary isn't until Friday! I feel that I should tell you, because I am having guilt over lying...not really. In the Chinese restaurant with Craig, I never said, "Wouldn't it be great if it was Sylvia from the nursery at my church!" I said, "Wouldn't it be great if it was that girl from the nursery at my church!" Seven years and I never even knew her name! True story!
Monday, December 13, 2010
Chet? You Ok?
Who is Chet? And what on Earth did he do to deserve that!?
Nothing says "Christmas" quite like your favorite carols. (When I was a teenager it was Carols Aubin, Cherry, and Alt, a classmate, a leader of my youth group, and supermodel...but I digress.) And for me, and my ever misfiring brain, there is nothing like the songs that you can change the words to. Most have heard to stirring rendition of, "Batman Smells" by one, Bart Simpson. When the Batmobile loses a wheel and Robin lays an egg...tears! That song is a little out of my baritone range however so I am resigned to sing about poor, poor Chet and the unfortunate incidents in his life that led him up to that fateful night, and an open fire. Tragic! (and to add Jack Frost nipping at your nose...well that is just sadistic)
I apologize to the good people of Malaysia who are reading this to perhaps strengthen their English skills...but there is just too much to explain.
I actually do have a little experience with chestnuts, chessstnuuuts, and can say with certainty that if you choose to involve them in your next open fire, I hope your insurance is paid up! For me, chestnuts rest in the category of "don't need to try them" for one simple reason.
When chestnut experts talk about them they say, "You know, there are two main types. One type is poisonous."
"That's fine. Pass the macaroni and cheese. And someone start working on a Christmas song about Lasagna!"
As most newly married men will tell you, the rules you thought you knew. do not apply. Our first Christmas together, Sylvia and I happened across some chestnuts in a store. I started to say, "You know, there are two typ..." and then I was in line at the register paying for my bag of chestnuts! Sylvia comforted me by saying, "It'll be great! Just like the song!" The only problem was that there is an "open fire" in the song, and while the thermostat on our oven was malfunctioning, the chances of an open fire were slim and none. (well, fair to moderate)
The kind lady at the register did offer a little help. She said, "You know, you need to cut a cross into one side of them. That is why they became associated with Christmas." She didn't say it with a sense of foreboding...but she could have.
We walked home, we "fire"d up the oven, we cut little crosses into the sides, and sat down to watch, It's a Wonderful Life. We were probably sampling the homemade German eggnog that doubled as a degreaser and high powered jet fuel, but that part is a little fuzzy. We got about to the part where George is threatening to make Mary walk home without her robe (that part always makes me laugh) when I heard..."poom!" in the kitchen. It sounded exactly like a tiny little hand grenade going off in an oven...that has a faulty thermostat. Against my better judgment I opened the door to see the rest of our "treats" squirming and sizzling like gigantic Mexican Jumping beans on a skillet! They, and every surface of the oven, were covered with the remnants of their comrade in arms. The poor guy never had a chance.
Apparently there is a membrane inside these tiny little explosive charges that you need to cut when you cut the cross into them. We managed to accomplish that!...on all but one. I can now tell you, as the exploding chestnut expert. that it takes approximately four hours to de-chestnut an oven that held partially de-membraned Christmas treats. In that time you can jokingly ask 47 times, "Whose idea was it to roast chestnuts again?" That's ok, I would do it again. Not that I liked the taste all that much. I am just a sucker for making the season bright...sometimes. And this time I will stab the little crosses into them like I am Jason, and chestnuts are coeds in the forest. (Now there's a nice little Christmas image!)
As some of you may have realized, I started to write about how Sylvia and I met since our anniversary is only a few days away...Friday, to be exact. You may be saying, "Jeff! What are you doing man!? You need to let us know the real story! You shouldn't be talking about exploding food!" Well this was just too important a topic to pass up. Think of it as a PSA (public service announcement) not to be confused with a TSA (which involves removing most of your clothes...and various body parts). I am going to be fine. I will be able to write about how we met soon. But first I need to try to fix my roof leak issue. Apparently our roofer was a crook and forged permits and stole materials. Warranty? Hah!
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to try to find my roofer...I think his name was Chet!
Nothing says "Christmas" quite like your favorite carols. (When I was a teenager it was Carols Aubin, Cherry, and Alt, a classmate, a leader of my youth group, and supermodel...but I digress.) And for me, and my ever misfiring brain, there is nothing like the songs that you can change the words to. Most have heard to stirring rendition of, "Batman Smells" by one, Bart Simpson. When the Batmobile loses a wheel and Robin lays an egg...tears! That song is a little out of my baritone range however so I am resigned to sing about poor, poor Chet and the unfortunate incidents in his life that led him up to that fateful night, and an open fire. Tragic! (and to add Jack Frost nipping at your nose...well that is just sadistic)
I apologize to the good people of Malaysia who are reading this to perhaps strengthen their English skills...but there is just too much to explain.
I actually do have a little experience with chestnuts, chessstnuuuts, and can say with certainty that if you choose to involve them in your next open fire, I hope your insurance is paid up! For me, chestnuts rest in the category of "don't need to try them" for one simple reason.
When chestnut experts talk about them they say, "You know, there are two main types. One type is poisonous."
"That's fine. Pass the macaroni and cheese. And someone start working on a Christmas song about Lasagna!"
As most newly married men will tell you, the rules you thought you knew. do not apply. Our first Christmas together, Sylvia and I happened across some chestnuts in a store. I started to say, "You know, there are two typ..." and then I was in line at the register paying for my bag of chestnuts! Sylvia comforted me by saying, "It'll be great! Just like the song!" The only problem was that there is an "open fire" in the song, and while the thermostat on our oven was malfunctioning, the chances of an open fire were slim and none. (well, fair to moderate)
The kind lady at the register did offer a little help. She said, "You know, you need to cut a cross into one side of them. That is why they became associated with Christmas." She didn't say it with a sense of foreboding...but she could have.
We walked home, we "fire"d up the oven, we cut little crosses into the sides, and sat down to watch, It's a Wonderful Life. We were probably sampling the homemade German eggnog that doubled as a degreaser and high powered jet fuel, but that part is a little fuzzy. We got about to the part where George is threatening to make Mary walk home without her robe (that part always makes me laugh) when I heard..."poom!" in the kitchen. It sounded exactly like a tiny little hand grenade going off in an oven...that has a faulty thermostat. Against my better judgment I opened the door to see the rest of our "treats" squirming and sizzling like gigantic Mexican Jumping beans on a skillet! They, and every surface of the oven, were covered with the remnants of their comrade in arms. The poor guy never had a chance.
Apparently there is a membrane inside these tiny little explosive charges that you need to cut when you cut the cross into them. We managed to accomplish that!...on all but one. I can now tell you, as the exploding chestnut expert. that it takes approximately four hours to de-chestnut an oven that held partially de-membraned Christmas treats. In that time you can jokingly ask 47 times, "Whose idea was it to roast chestnuts again?" That's ok, I would do it again. Not that I liked the taste all that much. I am just a sucker for making the season bright...sometimes. And this time I will stab the little crosses into them like I am Jason, and chestnuts are coeds in the forest. (Now there's a nice little Christmas image!)
As some of you may have realized, I started to write about how Sylvia and I met since our anniversary is only a few days away...Friday, to be exact. You may be saying, "Jeff! What are you doing man!? You need to let us know the real story! You shouldn't be talking about exploding food!" Well this was just too important a topic to pass up. Think of it as a PSA (public service announcement) not to be confused with a TSA (which involves removing most of your clothes...and various body parts). I am going to be fine. I will be able to write about how we met soon. But first I need to try to fix my roof leak issue. Apparently our roofer was a crook and forged permits and stole materials. Warranty? Hah!
Now if you'll excuse me, I need to try to find my roofer...I think his name was Chet!
Saturday, December 11, 2010
How We Met?
I could go backwards. I was faster forward! I could limbo. I could even Shoot the Duck! But I never won a free coke. Considering how often we were there, I should have bought my own equipment, but I never did. Sylvia did. I didn't. I was 14 turning 15, Sylvia was 13 turning 14, and we were with each other often! Every Saturday night, and most Fridays, Sylvia and I were together at a memory making palace called Roller World! Roller World was the place to be back then in Fremont and Newark. It was a lot of fun. It was a place to see and be seen (teenager style) and we had a blast! Of course we did or we wouldn't have kept coming back! (it wasn't like high heels and some women, where they keep going back to them even though they are awful...but that is another blog)
As we roll ever closer to our anniversary (pun intended), I decided to talk about the young Sylvia and Jeff. This is the kind of thing they will put in the movie they make out of my blog. Brooke Shields would have played Sylvia, Marc Price would play me. Before you say, "Who?" To which I say, "exactly my point." Let me tell you that he was the dorky kid who played Alex Keaton's friend "Skippy"on Family Ties. Except his glasses weren't coke bottles and he wasn't overweight.
It was rare that either one of us would not go skating on the weekend. A birthday, a recital, something going on at church (for me, Sylvia didn't go yet), or a family outing might keep us away. It was always Roller World and anything that kept us from it would be met with resistance and a little grumbling...or a lot of grumbling. I mean, there wasn't much that I would tolerate that would keep me away from teen "romance" especially when the lights went down and they announced "couples skate." Holding hands? Me? I was just a dorky kid. I mean really dorky! I couldn't believe that anyone was willing to hold my hand while we skated around the rink...but it happened!
Now Sylvia and I were not "together together." She had her friends, I had my friends, our parents dropped us off separately, but it was still a lot of fun. We would do our own things. I really liked speed skating. Being able to figure out how to go fast enough to be fun but still not get kicked out for being too dangerous was my thing. Sylvia skated backwards and was way more comfortable at it than me. I could do it but it wasn't my thing. And even though "shooting the duck" wasn't my thing either, I could do it. If you don't know, that was where you skate, bend down on one leg, and hold the other leg in front of you like a rifle. Thus the shooting part. If you did it the best, fastest, farthest, least wobbly, you won a free Coke from the snack bar. I never won but in my mind I looked cool being able to do that trick...and then I went and bought a Coke anyway.
It was a time before there were a lot of fights and gangs and we were there minus our parents. To keep everyone safe Roller World had a "no return" policy. If you went outside, you stayed outside. We would call home when we were ready to be picked up and lucky for us our parents were close. In fact, if you measured it, I think Roller World was the exact mid point between our two houses.
Before I met Sylvia I never couple skated with anyone. I keep trying to explain to you that I was (am) a dork! Did I mention that I was overweight with crazy thick glasses? Ok, honesty time, before I actually met Sylvia there was one time...a cute girl came up to me and said, "Want to couple skate?" (I never would have asked anyone) I managed to squeak out, "sure." And when we got out there to skate she grabbed both my hands and started to skate backward. She didn't want to stop skating and wanted to practice going backward. I guess I looked safe enough. I was thrilled! (and my friends were amazed) And Sylvia, well Sylvia, she didn't really have an opinion, you see...even though we were at Roller World, together, every weekend for most of two years, we never actually met.
As we roll ever closer to our anniversary (pun intended), I decided to talk about the young Sylvia and Jeff. This is the kind of thing they will put in the movie they make out of my blog. Brooke Shields would have played Sylvia, Marc Price would play me. Before you say, "Who?" To which I say, "exactly my point." Let me tell you that he was the dorky kid who played Alex Keaton's friend "Skippy"on Family Ties. Except his glasses weren't coke bottles and he wasn't overweight.
It was rare that either one of us would not go skating on the weekend. A birthday, a recital, something going on at church (for me, Sylvia didn't go yet), or a family outing might keep us away. It was always Roller World and anything that kept us from it would be met with resistance and a little grumbling...or a lot of grumbling. I mean, there wasn't much that I would tolerate that would keep me away from teen "romance" especially when the lights went down and they announced "couples skate." Holding hands? Me? I was just a dorky kid. I mean really dorky! I couldn't believe that anyone was willing to hold my hand while we skated around the rink...but it happened!
Now Sylvia and I were not "together together." She had her friends, I had my friends, our parents dropped us off separately, but it was still a lot of fun. We would do our own things. I really liked speed skating. Being able to figure out how to go fast enough to be fun but still not get kicked out for being too dangerous was my thing. Sylvia skated backwards and was way more comfortable at it than me. I could do it but it wasn't my thing. And even though "shooting the duck" wasn't my thing either, I could do it. If you don't know, that was where you skate, bend down on one leg, and hold the other leg in front of you like a rifle. Thus the shooting part. If you did it the best, fastest, farthest, least wobbly, you won a free Coke from the snack bar. I never won but in my mind I looked cool being able to do that trick...and then I went and bought a Coke anyway.
It was a time before there were a lot of fights and gangs and we were there minus our parents. To keep everyone safe Roller World had a "no return" policy. If you went outside, you stayed outside. We would call home when we were ready to be picked up and lucky for us our parents were close. In fact, if you measured it, I think Roller World was the exact mid point between our two houses.
Before I met Sylvia I never couple skated with anyone. I keep trying to explain to you that I was (am) a dork! Did I mention that I was overweight with crazy thick glasses? Ok, honesty time, before I actually met Sylvia there was one time...a cute girl came up to me and said, "Want to couple skate?" (I never would have asked anyone) I managed to squeak out, "sure." And when we got out there to skate she grabbed both my hands and started to skate backward. She didn't want to stop skating and wanted to practice going backward. I guess I looked safe enough. I was thrilled! (and my friends were amazed) And Sylvia, well Sylvia, she didn't really have an opinion, you see...even though we were at Roller World, together, every weekend for most of two years, we never actually met.
In my mind, I know she is the cute girl who asked me to couple skate.
(How we really met? Still to come!)
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Will Write For Food
I am on my way to fame and fortune! I have just signed on to allow ads on my blog. You can see them on the side and below the post. These ads are the key to my secret plan to become ridiculously wealthy. Since I am a "numbers" guy I started doing some calculations.
About a thousand people go to the blog each month. People need things like Android phones and creative writing courses. If everyone who goes to the blog buys a phone or signs up for a creative writing course, I should be able to fix the second leak in my roof in no time. If everyone buys a phone AND signs up for the writing course every month then I should be able to retire! I think I'll start looking at brochures for adult living condos in Boca Raton! (I didn't say I was a good numbers guy!)
I think I get a little money if enough people just click on the ads each month. It's not as much as when someone actually buys something, or signs up for something, but it helps. As of right now I have already earned zero point zero dollars! I suspect it's like store coupons that actually say, "cash redemption value 1/20th of one cent." Have you ever tried to take twenty coupons in to the store to get a penny? Trust me, they look at you funny and sometimes wonder (out loud) how you got out of the house without your helmet! I suppose I should have reconsidered the plan to buy coupons at 1/40th of a cent only to turn around and double my money! Live and learn...I suppose I could use all of these coupons to patch the hole in the roof.
Now, officially, I am not supposed to create a program that continually "clicks" the ads because that would be cheating. It actually said that. I wonder if they know that I needed to look up what "blog" stood for and that my experience with computers is limited to signing in and checking Facebook? I am not creating any program that does anything anytime soon. When I bought the Commodore 64 lo these many years ago, it took me a book, my dad's help, and 2 hours to create a program that had a ball bounce up and down on the screen. The program also disappeared as soon as I turned off the computer because I forgot to hit save.
I am also not supposed to encourage other people to creating automatic click programs. I only know of one person who would be able to do that...Mom, just don't! Hear me!? (For those of you who don't know my mom...that is about the funniest thing I've ever written ...if you don't believe me you could call her on her rotary phone and ask) Seriously, I think I am safe in assuming that nobody will be doing that on my behalf.
I'm also supposed to encourage people to click on the ads in a legitimate way. . So here I am, asking you for 1/20 of a cent so I can fix my roof. I figure at the current rate of consumption I should be able to afford a coupon for Hefty bags to put all of my waterlogged things in. It's only a matter of time before I am famous and rich...not necessarily in that order.
Speaking of rich, I have made a decision in my premiere contest! I had many responses concerning the artwork in question. Several people promised to hang the original masterpiece in a prominent place and bequeath it to their children. One person even promised to give it to her children before she passed...I believe the technical term for that is Prequeath. But one person said that it would be hung in a spot that people would see and then start requesting artwork of mine to hang in their own houses. This would then make me "famous and RICH!" When I am staring at the business end of two kids in going through school activities, taking various music lessons, flying to New York for performances, and eventually wanting to go to college, added to a roof that is rapidly becoming a sieve, I just couldn't resist the word "RICH" in all capital letters. Who can argue with that? Plus the fact that the writer of that comment also happens to be the mom of my God-daughter. So that didn't hurt her chances either. The only problem is that she lives in Canada and the customs involved in shipping rare works of art is a little touchy. There will be forms to fill out, officials to schmooze, bribes to be paid...I wouldn't count on seeing it for several months, Sophie.
For everyone else, I know it is disappointing to come in second place (honestly all of the other entries tied) especially when everyone seemed to instantly form such a strong bond to the masterpiece in question, but rest assured I promise to create other works of art for everyone who wants one. Of course there will be a nominal fee. This fee will be waived if you sign up for a creative writing course while using your newly purchased Android phone...or you could "legitimately" click on all of the ads in my blog several thousand times a day...wink wink!
About a thousand people go to the blog each month. People need things like Android phones and creative writing courses. If everyone who goes to the blog buys a phone or signs up for a creative writing course, I should be able to fix the second leak in my roof in no time. If everyone buys a phone AND signs up for the writing course every month then I should be able to retire! I think I'll start looking at brochures for adult living condos in Boca Raton! (I didn't say I was a good numbers guy!)
I think I get a little money if enough people just click on the ads each month. It's not as much as when someone actually buys something, or signs up for something, but it helps. As of right now I have already earned zero point zero dollars! I suspect it's like store coupons that actually say, "cash redemption value 1/20th of one cent." Have you ever tried to take twenty coupons in to the store to get a penny? Trust me, they look at you funny and sometimes wonder (out loud) how you got out of the house without your helmet! I suppose I should have reconsidered the plan to buy coupons at 1/40th of a cent only to turn around and double my money! Live and learn...I suppose I could use all of these coupons to patch the hole in the roof.
Now, officially, I am not supposed to create a program that continually "clicks" the ads because that would be cheating. It actually said that. I wonder if they know that I needed to look up what "blog" stood for and that my experience with computers is limited to signing in and checking Facebook? I am not creating any program that does anything anytime soon. When I bought the Commodore 64 lo these many years ago, it took me a book, my dad's help, and 2 hours to create a program that had a ball bounce up and down on the screen. The program also disappeared as soon as I turned off the computer because I forgot to hit save.
I am also not supposed to encourage other people to creating automatic click programs. I only know of one person who would be able to do that...Mom, just don't! Hear me!? (For those of you who don't know my mom...that is about the funniest thing I've ever written ...if you don't believe me you could call her on her rotary phone and ask) Seriously, I think I am safe in assuming that nobody will be doing that on my behalf.
I'm also supposed to encourage people to click on the ads in a legitimate way. . So here I am, asking you for 1/20 of a cent so I can fix my roof. I figure at the current rate of consumption I should be able to afford a coupon for Hefty bags to put all of my waterlogged things in. It's only a matter of time before I am famous and rich...not necessarily in that order.
Speaking of rich, I have made a decision in my premiere contest! I had many responses concerning the artwork in question. Several people promised to hang the original masterpiece in a prominent place and bequeath it to their children. One person even promised to give it to her children before she passed...I believe the technical term for that is Prequeath. But one person said that it would be hung in a spot that people would see and then start requesting artwork of mine to hang in their own houses. This would then make me "famous and RICH!" When I am staring at the business end of two kids in going through school activities, taking various music lessons, flying to New York for performances, and eventually wanting to go to college, added to a roof that is rapidly becoming a sieve, I just couldn't resist the word "RICH" in all capital letters. Who can argue with that? Plus the fact that the writer of that comment also happens to be the mom of my God-daughter. So that didn't hurt her chances either. The only problem is that she lives in Canada and the customs involved in shipping rare works of art is a little touchy. There will be forms to fill out, officials to schmooze, bribes to be paid...I wouldn't count on seeing it for several months, Sophie.
For everyone else, I know it is disappointing to come in second place (honestly all of the other entries tied) especially when everyone seemed to instantly form such a strong bond to the masterpiece in question, but rest assured I promise to create other works of art for everyone who wants one. Of course there will be a nominal fee. This fee will be waived if you sign up for a creative writing course while using your newly purchased Android phone...or you could "legitimately" click on all of the ads in my blog several thousand times a day...wink wink!
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Ow! Ow! Ow!
Tis the season when I start to get a little happier, I smile a little more, if I could afford to go out to restaurants I might even give a little larger tip (well let's not get carried away)...and I finally sit down to watch some of my favorite movies. "You'll shoot your eye out!" is toward the top of the list. I enjoy all of the "Vacation" movies but "Christmas Vacation" has a special place in my spleen. (the heart is reserved for my family...and Rocky Road ice cream) "Scrooged" has a good message and who knew that Dickens' story could be humorous.
Yes, those movies are nice but they lack the sincerity of "Miracle on 34th Street" and my favorite..."It's a Wonderful Life." I consider it a failed Christmas season if I haven't seen those movies at least once. I haven't "failed" in quite some time.
Remember the old Granville place in Wonderful Life? When Mary and George walk by and end up throwing rocks to break glass and make a wish. The porch was falling down. The roof had very few shingles left. When they ended up moving in it took them years of improvements to make it only drafty and rundown. And then, remember, that George was tired of the things that kept falling apart including the newel post that always wobbled when he grabbed it on the way upstairs. (don't feel bad if you didn't know what that banister cap thing was called...I did more research on that than on anything else I have done in the blog) The point is, the house was in shambles!
I wish my body was in that good of shape! And I am not going to say, but I digress, because this is where I was going the whole time! I am officially falling apart. There's nothing left but for me to sit on a street somewhere and wait for young couples to come strolling along and throw rocks at me to make wishes...in a football jersey and bathrobe. OK, I might be done with the movie analogy (in case you are the one person in the universe who hasn't seen this movie...but don't feel bad, I've never seen any of the Godfather movies)
So yes, my body has taken another turn for the worse. The official story is that I was driving home when I saw an overturned bus, burning, on top of a group of kids, did I say kids...I meant orphans and nuns, and they were burning too, and there was a Jessica Simpson movie playing (was that a little too much imagined tragedy?) and I lifted the bus, single-handedly saving everybody. I'll pause in my writing to wait for you to get a tissue to dry your moistened eyes. If you feel that you must do the 'golf clap' I need to request that you do that on your own time. Ok, I'm back. As I set the bus down...did I mention that it was burning?...I felt the slightest of twitches in my lower back. I laughed as I adjusted my cape, took two steps, and flew off to fight crime or something equally heroic. Dun dun dun Dahhhhhh!!! (sound effects are nearly impossible to write down...give me a break)
So that is the story that I told everyone yesterday...as I hobbled around with a cane. What really happened, and I am trusting that you won't repeat this, is I was trying to put the dog into the back yard. Stop laughing! That's manly. Sort of. Well at least it's kind of heroi...oh never mind. I'm a wimp. Yes, I, Jeff Garrett kindergarten teacher, can injure myself by trying to scoot the dog outside. In my defense, he is a medium sized dog! It's not like I hurt myself getting out of the car...this time. It was a medium sized car!
Yes, that is the story. We were trying to get out the door to take Jake to basketball practice and I decided to have Fudge out rather than in on this night. That was my first mistake. Fudge, unbeknownst to me, had decided that he would rather stay in since it was a little chilly out. I reasoned that since he is the only one in the family with a form fitting fur coat, he could handle it. So I urged him on. You dog owners know the look I got from him..."Please sir, may I have but another moment in the house? I promise I will never again root around in the garbage and then wait until 3:30 A.M. to regurgitate the plastic turkey bag onto the living room carpet." (I said regurgitate because I am trying to be classy and I didn't want to write vomit...dodged a bullet there!)
Well I, with my opposable thumb superiority, decided that this night was to be declared "dog outside night" and I would make that happen, and get Jake to basketball on time as well. You know those posters that show the proper way to bend? Have you ever been to a half-day seminar that explains the way to keep from injuring yourself when lifting? Have you ever heard the expression, "lift with your legs"? Apparently, I haven't either. My technique went something like this. Stand completely straight, lock the knees, bend at the waist, and lift!...then scream out in pain, fall to the ground, writhe and squirm, practice Lamaze breathing, do a mental roll call of who is in the house to see if I can use the really good pain relieving words, remain motionless in between muscle spasms, cry, assure Jake that daddy is not going to the hospital again, think I may have to go to the hospital again, get really mad because the 29 hairless EKG spots are almost completely grown back...you know, the usual Thursday evening at the Garrett's.
While Sylvia took Jake to practice I managed to inch/scream/crawl to a place where I could climb/shout/hobble to the kitchen cabinet where I keep 'the good stuff'. I got out the anti-inflammatory prescription meds, cursed the decision to put them on the top shelf, and started inching my way to bed. A few minutes later I had almost made it across the kitchen and Sylvia came home talking about calling the doctor. They know me over there. This'll be fun. I continued to inch down the hall, screaming in pain, all the while telling Sylvia that I would be fine to go to work tomorrow. (that's a pre-requisite if you want to keep your man card) More breathing, more screaming, more whimpering, and I made it to lie down. Sylvia managed to get a phone appointment, good thing...the next time I was moving out of this bed was when I got up to go to work (man card) and I really like my chest hair un-dalmation-like. The spasms across my lower back were taking my breath away, it felt like someone had stabbed me with a Bowie knife, and I was trying to avoid making lesson plans. (come on teachers...can I hear an AMEN!?)
The doc called, started saying something about giving me some pain meds...I told her about the 13 bottles I had left over from when they tried to get me to swallow and I couldn't swallow anything and she asked if she could send patients to our house since the pharmacy was running out.
She asked if I, "Retained bladder control."
"Pardon?"
"Did you have a bowel movement?"
"Ever?! Just what are you asking doc?"
"When this happened, did you ...?"
"OH!, You want to know if I messed myself. Nope, all set. Wait...yup. No problem."
"OK. That's good. Take some of the green pills, one of the white ones, sleep, if it gets worse call back or go to the ER."
Sylvia, "What did she say?"
Me, "She said you were supposed to wait on me hand and foot for months!"
"Good night Jeff!"
I really need to get my sense of humor in check.
So here I am, the bad-luck poster child. I did make it to work (I got ten more points in my man account...now I can wear a pink shirt without being hassled) and I got many, many comments about how I was falling apart, I am getting old, I should take it easy, Sylvia should wait on me hand and foot for months...but nobody got close to the real reason. I get much more praise for my blog when I write about being sick or injured. I was just trying to get more material to write about!
I am worried about the fan mail that Sylvia is getting...asking her to leave out roller skates, telling the kids to play with marbles on the tile floor, setting the radio next to my sink. I will try to pick up the pace people! So to Sylvia's mom, please stop writing. Kidding! I can write about other things... who knows, I may have something else to write about soon. I am working up a pretty good hangnail as we speak!
As of now, I am two days away from the injury. Thanks to a couple nights of rest and a plethora of medications I am able to function (mostly). It feels like someone has made a fist around my spine and is squeezing. I am supporting myself with a cane and taking it easy and most of all trying to avoid further accidents. I have researched information about being safer. Hours and hours spent on the internet! I am a veritable storehouse of safety information! In fact, while I sit in this ergonomic chair and write this aeromatic blog I have my hands placed in the 10 and 2 position on the keyboard...or is that for changing light bulbs?
Yes, those movies are nice but they lack the sincerity of "Miracle on 34th Street" and my favorite..."It's a Wonderful Life." I consider it a failed Christmas season if I haven't seen those movies at least once. I haven't "failed" in quite some time.
Remember the old Granville place in Wonderful Life? When Mary and George walk by and end up throwing rocks to break glass and make a wish. The porch was falling down. The roof had very few shingles left. When they ended up moving in it took them years of improvements to make it only drafty and rundown. And then, remember, that George was tired of the things that kept falling apart including the newel post that always wobbled when he grabbed it on the way upstairs. (don't feel bad if you didn't know what that banister cap thing was called...I did more research on that than on anything else I have done in the blog) The point is, the house was in shambles!
I wish my body was in that good of shape! And I am not going to say, but I digress, because this is where I was going the whole time! I am officially falling apart. There's nothing left but for me to sit on a street somewhere and wait for young couples to come strolling along and throw rocks at me to make wishes...in a football jersey and bathrobe. OK, I might be done with the movie analogy (in case you are the one person in the universe who hasn't seen this movie...but don't feel bad, I've never seen any of the Godfather movies)
So yes, my body has taken another turn for the worse. The official story is that I was driving home when I saw an overturned bus, burning, on top of a group of kids, did I say kids...I meant orphans and nuns, and they were burning too, and there was a Jessica Simpson movie playing (was that a little too much imagined tragedy?) and I lifted the bus, single-handedly saving everybody. I'll pause in my writing to wait for you to get a tissue to dry your moistened eyes. If you feel that you must do the 'golf clap' I need to request that you do that on your own time. Ok, I'm back. As I set the bus down...did I mention that it was burning?...I felt the slightest of twitches in my lower back. I laughed as I adjusted my cape, took two steps, and flew off to fight crime or something equally heroic. Dun dun dun Dahhhhhh!!! (sound effects are nearly impossible to write down...give me a break)
So that is the story that I told everyone yesterday...as I hobbled around with a cane. What really happened, and I am trusting that you won't repeat this, is I was trying to put the dog into the back yard. Stop laughing! That's manly. Sort of. Well at least it's kind of heroi...oh never mind. I'm a wimp. Yes, I, Jeff Garrett kindergarten teacher, can injure myself by trying to scoot the dog outside. In my defense, he is a medium sized dog! It's not like I hurt myself getting out of the car...this time. It was a medium sized car!
Yes, that is the story. We were trying to get out the door to take Jake to basketball practice and I decided to have Fudge out rather than in on this night. That was my first mistake. Fudge, unbeknownst to me, had decided that he would rather stay in since it was a little chilly out. I reasoned that since he is the only one in the family with a form fitting fur coat, he could handle it. So I urged him on. You dog owners know the look I got from him..."Please sir, may I have but another moment in the house? I promise I will never again root around in the garbage and then wait until 3:30 A.M. to regurgitate the plastic turkey bag onto the living room carpet." (I said regurgitate because I am trying to be classy and I didn't want to write vomit...dodged a bullet there!)
Well I, with my opposable thumb superiority, decided that this night was to be declared "dog outside night" and I would make that happen, and get Jake to basketball on time as well. You know those posters that show the proper way to bend? Have you ever been to a half-day seminar that explains the way to keep from injuring yourself when lifting? Have you ever heard the expression, "lift with your legs"? Apparently, I haven't either. My technique went something like this. Stand completely straight, lock the knees, bend at the waist, and lift!...then scream out in pain, fall to the ground, writhe and squirm, practice Lamaze breathing, do a mental roll call of who is in the house to see if I can use the really good pain relieving words, remain motionless in between muscle spasms, cry, assure Jake that daddy is not going to the hospital again, think I may have to go to the hospital again, get really mad because the 29 hairless EKG spots are almost completely grown back...you know, the usual Thursday evening at the Garrett's.
While Sylvia took Jake to practice I managed to inch/scream/crawl to a place where I could climb/shout/hobble to the kitchen cabinet where I keep 'the good stuff'. I got out the anti-inflammatory prescription meds, cursed the decision to put them on the top shelf, and started inching my way to bed. A few minutes later I had almost made it across the kitchen and Sylvia came home talking about calling the doctor. They know me over there. This'll be fun. I continued to inch down the hall, screaming in pain, all the while telling Sylvia that I would be fine to go to work tomorrow. (that's a pre-requisite if you want to keep your man card) More breathing, more screaming, more whimpering, and I made it to lie down. Sylvia managed to get a phone appointment, good thing...the next time I was moving out of this bed was when I got up to go to work (man card) and I really like my chest hair un-dalmation-like. The spasms across my lower back were taking my breath away, it felt like someone had stabbed me with a Bowie knife, and I was trying to avoid making lesson plans. (come on teachers...can I hear an AMEN!?)
The doc called, started saying something about giving me some pain meds...I told her about the 13 bottles I had left over from when they tried to get me to swallow and I couldn't swallow anything and she asked if she could send patients to our house since the pharmacy was running out.
She asked if I, "Retained bladder control."
"Pardon?"
"Did you have a bowel movement?"
"Ever?! Just what are you asking doc?"
"When this happened, did you ...?"
"OH!, You want to know if I messed myself. Nope, all set. Wait...yup. No problem."
"OK. That's good. Take some of the green pills, one of the white ones, sleep, if it gets worse call back or go to the ER."
Sylvia, "What did she say?"
Me, "She said you were supposed to wait on me hand and foot for months!"
"Good night Jeff!"
I really need to get my sense of humor in check.
So here I am, the bad-luck poster child. I did make it to work (I got ten more points in my man account...now I can wear a pink shirt without being hassled) and I got many, many comments about how I was falling apart, I am getting old, I should take it easy, Sylvia should wait on me hand and foot for months...but nobody got close to the real reason. I get much more praise for my blog when I write about being sick or injured. I was just trying to get more material to write about!
I am worried about the fan mail that Sylvia is getting...asking her to leave out roller skates, telling the kids to play with marbles on the tile floor, setting the radio next to my sink. I will try to pick up the pace people! So to Sylvia's mom, please stop writing. Kidding! I can write about other things... who knows, I may have something else to write about soon. I am working up a pretty good hangnail as we speak!
As of now, I am two days away from the injury. Thanks to a couple nights of rest and a plethora of medications I am able to function (mostly). It feels like someone has made a fist around my spine and is squeezing. I am supporting myself with a cane and taking it easy and most of all trying to avoid further accidents. I have researched information about being safer. Hours and hours spent on the internet! I am a veritable storehouse of safety information! In fact, while I sit in this ergonomic chair and write this aeromatic blog I have my hands placed in the 10 and 2 position on the keyboard...or is that for changing light bulbs?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)