Computers, Ice Scrapers & Underwear, Oh My!

My Dell Insipid has been given a new lease on life. No offense to Dell, of course, but in my household, when a computer dies for any reaon, it gets renamed. With that being said, just trust me when I say there have been some foul-named computers that have come through my home.

Thank goodness for my personal computer fix-it technician/guru, alias my brother-in-law! I'm nominating him for sainthood, and not just because he breathed life into another one of my plastic boxes filled with wires and chips and is supposed to have electrical pulses race through it to make it operate properly. He has also been installing light fixtures and ceiling fans around my home since I've started working 40 hour days.

Regardless of my suicide work schedule or computer status, I am plugging on and moving forward, sometimes one letter at a time on the trusty iPod. And speaking of status, here is an update post on some of my previous posts about which I have been questioned.

First, I want to apologize to my readers and everyone else. After writing about my problem with ice scrapers, as well as my general lack of scrapers, I received quite an influx of the little devices. This, and the fact that I was looking forward to a cold, frosty winter so I could use the scrapers, seems to have prevented us from having a cold winter. You know, kind of the same way you forget to pack a rain coat and it rains for an entire weekend vacation...

Anyway, regardless of what I've said or written about Bob, our spaniel, he has really grown on me. I won't be giving him away, getting rid of him, sending him down the stream, etc. To everyone I have promised a free dog, forget it!

For those of you who know me and have been in my white car, it's not really going to blow up! All I'll say is, it's amazing what a difference a tire can make.

And a big thank you to all of you who honk and wake me up now in the morning. My new school morning duty has me standing alone out front. Whether friendly or not, the honking and waving has helped keep me awake and paying attention.

And on one last note, thank you to my family. While my missing underwear remains just that, my family came through for me for my recent birthday (happy 44th, crazy man!) and gave me underwear. I'm glad to report that as of this post, I am not doing the wash nearly as frequently.

Please, Don't Make Me Angry...

I started this week off with a bang... I decided I needed an up close and personal view of High Point Regional Hospital's emergency room.

I actually started the morning off with my usual routine of shave, shower, dress and drive. What I didn't count on for my Monday morning, however, were the bonus chest pains I would feel on my way in to work. And, of course, my subsequent visit to the ER.

My wife told me they would probably rush me in quickly. I didn't believe her and figured I would end up waiting for a while to get in and get seen. After all, I had waited nearly an hour to have them surgically re-attach the left hand index finger that my food processor tried to eat off more than a year ago!

Like she said, they got me in quickly, laid me down and hooked me up to some machine. Thoughts of the old Hulk series (you know, with Bill Bixby and Lou Ferrigno!) flashed through my mind. Then they asked me a barrage of questions and pulled out a silver, metal spike. Virtual medicine, Matrix-style! Sadly, no. It was just the thermometer.

They got me into a room and hooked me up to more machines. Someone came and shot my chest with a portable x-ray device. Wires were attached to my finger and chest and the start of an IV hung out of my left arm. On top of all that, my hospital gown kept falling off and I couldn't bend either arm to pull it back up.

Throughout the entire ordeal, my awesome wife remained by my side. She patiently waited, listening to everything the nurses, technicians and doctors had to say. I feel certain that she, like myself, was waiting intently to find out if I was suffering from stress, anxiety, psychosis or heart-related illness.

Oddly, the ER doctor never indicated which was the problem. Instead, she deffered me to my regular doctor, who I will be seeing first thing in the morning.

One last interesting note is that since I got out, no one has yet made me mad enough to cause my shirt to rip, my muscles to bulge and my skin to turn green. Needless to say, I have no definitive answer on that count. I may have to ask about that one...

Another Laptop Shot to &*## !

Today's post has been created and brought to you through my iPod. But please don't be misled. I am NOT embracing the fleeting concept that is known as technology. In essence, I'm utilizing what I can in place of technology that no longer exists for me.

Why did I peck out this post one letter at a time on something so small that it borderlines on the tortuous and ridiculous? The answer lies upon my desk. Literally.

It's my door stop. A door stop sits upon my desk. It's a silver door stop. Nothing fancy. It has a standard QWERTY layout with a flip up 15 inch screen (I'm guessing). It has top mounted speakers and several other features which have all been rendered moot by the death of the screen, or hard drive or both!

My personal computer tech, alias my really awesome brother-in-law, originally told me that it might be the auxiliary battery from which the date and time stamp run off. Now that my Insipid, as I've renamed it, is in computer camp at his house, he said the hard drive crashed. Since I haven't been in any car accidents lately and I haven't dropped my computer, I'll just assume my son crashed the device into the wall or something.

Whatever! Regardless of the reason, my laptop has been rendered a lump of metal, plastic and wires. Like I said, a door stop.

Needless to say, I'm up that proverbial creek without a paddle. If I am lucky, my personal computer tech will be able to fix my "hand me down" laptop. Otherwise, I'll hope someone else will be getting a new computer and will throw their castoff in my direction.

Until then, the posts may be excruciatingly slow in coming since I'll be pecking them out one letter at a time on the iPod. Then I will have to retype them into my blog on a borrowed computer.

Cigarettes Kill

I've started yet another job. I think I'm up to four on the job count. Let's see... I'm an author, a blog post writer, a teacher's assistant and now an employee at a retail store. (Sadly, two are voluntary at this time.) As far as the new job goes, so far so good. Working with the public is the easiest part since I'm never at a loss for what to say. However, I'm finding out that there are some tough aspects to my new job as well.

Since it's a retail store, it's kinda like a giant game of concentration. I'm certain I stocked the shampoo on aisle six and the medicine on aisle 13 about a week ago. Sometime between a week ago and last night, someone obviously broke into our store and moved the shampoo to 13 and the medicine to six. I haven't yet broken the news to my boss. I don't want to upset her.

Also, I still haven't figured out what all we carry within the confines of our little store.

"Excuse me," said a customer Monday night. "Where would I find the Velcro?"

Velcro? Did he say Velcro? As in hook and loop material? Do we even carry that product? Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh! Because it's not very professional to just scream "help," I calmly pressed the page button on the phone and said, "assistance needed at the front counter."

I should probably ease up on the "assistance" pages before my coworkers and boss decide to tie me up with the phone cord.

The toughest aspect by far would be the cigarettes. My first cigarette sale was disastrous. A gentleman came in for a pack of "reds." I turned around. My heart began racing. Behind me is an entire wall dedicated to tobacco products and a large majority of them are cigarettes. An entire third of them are red. A third of them are silver and a third are green. The rest were variations and combinations of red, silver and green, and a few other colors thrown in for good measure.

Math not withstanding, I knew I had to think of something quick. I turned back to the customer.
"Which red ones," I asked politely.
"The ones behind you," he said. No good...
"Which brand would that be sir," I asked. He gave me a hard stare.
"Obviously that'd be the Marlboros," he replied.
I turned and grabbed a pack and handed them to him. He gave me another hard stare. Then he handed them back to me.
"I'd really like some Marlboro Reds," he said. "Not these. And not in a soft pack this time."
"They're all kind of soft and squishy," I said, hoping to alleviate the moment with a little humor.
"You ain't never smoked, have you, son" he asked me.

That's when I came up with a great idea. I bravely suggested it to him. He unhappily agreed and watched as I placed my finger on one pack. I then proceeded to walk the wall, sliding my finger down the infinite row of cigarettes until he finally said "stop." And, voila, problem solved.

I don't think my boss will allow me to refuse cigarette sales on the grounds that they are unhealthy. And most smokers take their cigarette brands seriously. So if I don't learn which is which, those cigarettes will be the death of me!

Fuzzy Black Dogs on Ice

It seems that the newest fuzzy, black dog, otherwise known as Bob, hasn't noticed that the ground has changed colors. I put the three of them out the back door and into the yard to do their business. As I opened the door, Bob barreled out just like I'd expect a spaniel to do. Generally, the only thing he notices is when there is a gale force wind driving torrents of rain sideways. He doesn't care for that.

On the other hand, Ace and Lilly, were just a bit more reserved about the cold, ice-slushie bathroom break. Ace generally does what I ask him to do. Generally. He slowed down considerably on the deck and looked around before going down the steps to the yard. Lilly, however, stopped half-way out the door.

One paw touched the cold, slippery stuff and the almighty princess, as my son sometimes calls her, stopped dead in her tracks. Now she's standing in the doorway with two paws inside, one paw in the vile, inhospitable ice-slush and one paw held in the air. She held this position and looked up at me with an expression that could only be translated as follows: "You pulled me off the comfy sofa to do this to me?! Wait'll you see what I've got planned when you go to sleep..."

Meanwhile, Ace has learned a new trick. While Bob is out running around the yard like it's a fine spring day, Ace is sitting nearly out of sight at the bottom step, waiting. After a certain amount of time, he runs back up the steps and to the door like he's done his business. Then I have to walk out into the elements and point out into the yard telling him to "go." Sometimes I even have to walk to the bottom step and "catch" him sitting there, as if he thinks I don't know.

In the meantime, Bob, having done his business came barreling back up to the back door. While incredibly cute, Bob is not the most intelligent or coordinated dog of the bunch. He hit the top step at top speed. He gave the appearance of trying to stop, but managed to slide completely across the deck and in through the back door. One down, two to go.

Lilly followed with her head and tail down, slowly and carefully placing each foot in the mess. She flashed an indignant look at me as she passed. Then came Ace, who had finally ventured out into the yard. I know I saw him do number one, but I didn't remember seeing number two.

As I finally made my way inside, I heard my son's voice just inside the door...

"Oooohhh...  Da poor doggies! He's so mean to da poor doggies! Forcing da poor innocent doggies to poop and pee out in da howwible howwible weather..."

Perhaps I can train him. Then I can stay toasty and warm inside while he takes them out in the howwible, howwible weather!

Wetsuits, Snorkels and Dead Bodies! Oh My!

(Travel Date: February 5, 2012. Blog Post Number... Okay, nevermind!)

Okay, we really have to start from the evening of Saturday, February 4th. That would be the evening with the midnight party and buffet on the main deck. That was the night of the drunk people on the dance floor. Honestly, there are few things in life quite as entertaining as a really drunk person stumbling to the dance floor to show off his or her "moves."

Well, that evening there was a his and a hers! She climbed atop of the stone statue at the head of the pool. That's where she showed off her "moves." Not surprisingly, the rhythm of her "moves" did NOT seem to follow the rhythm of the music being blasted across the deck. He was wearing a suit up top and nothing on the bottom but his skivvies. Really. And he showed off his "moves" to any woman brave enough to come within a three foot radius of his gyrations and seizures. From my vantage point, it looked as though he scared a lot of women off.

Want to know what an evening of wild revelry and debauchery is good for? It makes breakfast the next day a quiet, more enjoyable ordeal for those of us who didn't get stinking drunk from Bahama Mamas or Coco Locos.

Some time after our pleasant breakfast, we were shuttled to the cruise line's private island called Coco Cay. I decided that if we were going to spend time in the water, my son and I would need wetsuits. We donned our rented wetsuits. It was amazing the number of heads that turned. Women up and down the beach could only gaze and wonder. That tight wetsuit accentuated all my manly curves.

After breaking away from all the attention, my son and I decided it was time to get wet. Decked out in our manly wetsuits and snorkeling gear, we hit the water. And we snorkeled. And snorkeled. And then snorkeled around some more. We had quite a blast out in the water, only to find our group spot deserted upon resigning from our water activities.

He and I spent maybe 30 to 45 minutes just trying to locate one of our herd that came out to the island with us. During that time, we got hungry. Naturally, we found some food and sat to eat. That's when this wild looking couple came upon us.

"You'd better tell your wife where you are," my parents said. "She told the officials you went snorkeling and never came back. I think they're dragging the lagoon looking for your dead bodies now."

Unbeknownst to me, my nephew wimping out halfway through the snorkeling adventure was merely the beginning of the end. That's when the trip took a turn for the worst. And that, my friends, is another blog post...

True Grace and Style Never Go Unrecognized

(Travel Date: February 4, 2012. Blog Post Num. 34.4932.78)

The first full day of vacation on the Royal Caribbean cruise line Monarch of the Seas started off poorly. A word to the wise -- don't put off until tomorrow that which needs to be done today!

Normally, one of the first things that my wife and I do upon reaching our travel destination is to organize and put our clothes away. Had we stuck with that plan, then Friday would have ended badly and Saturday would have started better. Somehow, it seems like it would be better to end a day on a bad note than to start a day on a bad note.

As we began organizing and putting our clothes away, I noticed that we had forgotten to pack a few items. Most of the missing items, as it turns out, were minor inconveniences that were easily handled. However, I discovered an essential piece of clothing missing from my wardrobe. I've been home now for approximately two days and I still can't find the missing items! I'm down to only four!

In order to prevent any scarring upon the minds of my readers, I will not mention what it was that was forgotten. Suffice it to say that I had to go "al fresco" (as my sisters and I used to call it ages ago) throughout the remainder of our vacation. For those of you unfamiliar with that term, I believe it is more commonly called going "commando."

A little bit later in the morning, the day got rougher, literally. My wife and I sat and watched the whitecaps and the waves for a short while. The spray coming off the tops of the whitecaps began wetting us down and making us just a little chilly. Once we moved away from the pool, everything got a little better. Or at least until I ordered the bucket o' beer.

A good bit later in the day, my wife and I found ourselves by the pool again. The bucket seemed like a good idea. Through sheer coincidence, as the waiter handed me the bucket, one of the straps on the deck chair gave away underneath me.
"That was not smooth, man," he said in what sounded like a smooth, Jamaican accent.
"That's why I got lite beer," I laughed, handling the situation with true style and panache.
Apparently it was a good joke. He laughed. He was probably thinking what a witty, stylish guy I was as he walked away, leaving me to extricate myself from the chair. I pulled myself out of the hole and inspected the straps. Aha! It was just as I suspected. I discovered some dry rot on the broken strap.

He probably knew about that. If he did, it would explain why he gave me respectful fist-bumps each time he saw me throughout the remainder of the cruise.