September 28, 2012

The End Of Summer Vacation

Hey Boys and Girls!  Yes, Summer Vacation is over and Jack Frost is nipping at our balls, or is that nipping at our nips?  I always forget.  Anyway, I've been away for a long time and thought it was time to do that thing where your 2nd grade teacher makes you write an essay on what you did over the Summer ... on your first day back to school, when all you wanted to do was take it easy, but this bitch makes you write again, and it's difficult, because you haven't written a fucking sentence all Summer.  And you know she's doing it simply because she's just as pissed as you are for being back to school.

Yes, it was a monumental Summer.  Yours truly ran the gamut of fun.  If I may, let me share the fun things that I experienced this Summer ...


  • Jan's mother dies after a short illness.  She lived a full life, so no "awwwwws" please. Jan and I attended the wake at her extended care home on a Saturday, which reminded me of a troll convention, only there was an musical organ and LOTS of hymns.  My Mom's wake was much more exciting because my cousin's wife was taking pictures of my Mom-In-The-Casket with her cell phone so she could send them to her friends.
  • The Pontiac pisses me off for the last time, dying by the side of the road and leaving me to sit in a "Jersey Mike's Malted And Good Times" parfait parlor for three hours while I wait for the fucking tow truck.  I develop diabetes.  After the Pontiac is repaired for the last time under my ownership, I take it straight to a Honda dealer and buy a CRV without even test-driving it.  I'm given 1,800 dollars for the car because "they are going to tow it straight to the auto auction.  The next day, I see a picture of my Pontiac sitting on the lot on sale for only $9799.  I lose faith in all mankind and car dealers.

  • I wake up on a Sunday morning with a terrific pain in my side.  After a quick on-line check with Web MD, I decide it's either my appendix or a brain tumor.  Riding through the morning fog to the outpatient medical center with my trusty wife, we arrive to find all of the computers are out and I have to fill out four thousand forms by hand.  Later in the morning, my quack attending physician reads my X-Rays and pronounces "It's a mess down there"  I'm relieved to know it's not my brain after all.  Later that Sunday night, as my entire family views me on my last night on earth, or so they think, I'm wheeled into the surgery suite where the one pound Stage III cancer tumor is removed and mounted for my fireplace mantel.  Later chemotherapy works well until it destroys my entire immune system, putting me in the hospital again sharing a room with a man named "Dale".

  • After escaping from the third floor window of the hospital using a rope made of bedsheets, used syringes and human hair, I return home to celebrate my 60th birthday. Unfortunately, the day is ruined by the STORM OF THE CENTURY ...

Unable to drive to the gas station to buy my usual birthday gift of Tiparillos, I brood in the basement all day long, washing clothes and downing half a case of "Mikes Hard Lemonade".

  • Later in the month, working in the complaint department at Giant Pharmaceutical Manufacturer, I crack one day when answering a complaint from a patient complaining her medication gave her constipation, diarrhea, heart palpitations and a general homicidal feeling, by suggesting she go to the doctor instead of writing me about her bullshit symptoms.  I am reprimanded by being assigned as a washroom attendant for a week, offering towels, mints and various perfumes to washroom attendees, in-between cleaning shit and piss off the walls and floors.

  • The month went by in a whirl, didn't it?  I took off today to go to the doctor.  And that's what you do when you're 60.  You go to the doctor every other week.  Today, I found out that my blood pressure was fine.  My glands were normal, and if you don't drink a gallon of water before your go to your appointment, the veins won't stand out on your arms and the doctor who is too stubborn to hire a phlebotomist will stab you in the arm 4 times and still not find a vein to draw from so she can tell you your cholesterol is too high and you need to take another pill.  But the day isn't an entire bust.  I was able to take my truck in for it's bi-monthly fixing up for tie-rod/springs/transmission replacement/valve cover brushing, which only cost 700 dollars.
And hey, Summer's gone and I didn't even get to see the fireworks on the 4th.  Life's a bitch.

Oh, P.S.  Here's the new car ...