I grew up in Farmington, New Mexico. It's up in the NW corner of the state and it's about 50 miles south of Durango, Colorado. Durango is the town where I was born. Mom said she had my dad take her to Durango to deliver me because it was a lot cheaper; that the hospital only charged them $50.00 for her little, "Melvin".
Well, when I was about 14, my mom took me back to Durango to save a little more money. This time it was to get a tooth pulled. For some reason, I had been having a lot of trouble with a molar and somehow mom found a dentist up there she wanted to use to help her baby boy. So off we went. She probably got a referral from an old friend from 14 years back, at Mercy Hospital in Durango.
The dentist's office was right down town Durango and if you don't know anything about Durango, it's an older type of town with mostly wooden buildings and there are a number of tiny mining towns all around with the same general decor. It's pretty much a tourist trap nowadays because of its quaintness and its hippy flair. You know, Peace and Love and all of that kind of stuff, but it is a fun place to visit. Anyway, I remember we parked the car along Main street and walked up a steep flight of creaky old wooden stairs and went into his office. The office door even had obscure glass with his name painted on it, so it was in actuality a pretty cool place if you didn't need to get "fixed".
After I was seated in the dentist's chair I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The chair and all of the dental equipment were "vintage", I mean "old-timey", with the big tall backed leather chair and the white porcelain spit bowl where the water is constantly running under the rim and down a hole in the middle of the bowl. The device holding the doctors drill was held up by the old hinged system with springs and wires running alongside and in between. The doctor had to push some big thing on the floor to operate the drill and he wore a big light cap so he could see better. It was like being back in time in an old Western movie or something. Very strange, but never mind that, cause we were about to save a "bundle".
The doctor came in and he looked to be as old as his equipment. He looked like he was at least in his 80's or older, with his shiny bald head, except for the wild as ever snow white hair wrapped all around the sides. He looked like he could be the father to the professor, Dr. Brown, from the first BACK TO THE FUTURE movies. Now, I won't say I was getting nervous or anything at this point, but come on, wouldn't you be? At least a little?
Well, he examined me and I guess decided the only thing that could be done to help me was to pull the tooth out and be done with it. He and his assistant proceeded to get all of their equipment in order to take care of me properly, then he gave me a shot or two to deaden the pain for the, "experience to come". After 10 or so minutes had passed and I successfully passed the, "Does it still hurt?", or "Can you feel this?" tests, he moved in to get down to business.
He put his teeth pulling pliers in my mouth and grabbing on to the culprit, started working it real slowly back and forth; real easy at first. Apparently, the tooth was in there pretty tight because he couldn't get it to just come right out. The more he worked on it the more frustrated he got, with the tooth and with his assistant and probably with me, because after all, I was the one causing him all of this grief!!
I remember him being a real small man and not very strong looking either. Heck, come to think of it, I was probably stronger than he was and I was only 14. Anyway, he kept tugging and wiggling it every which way he could think of and it still wouldn't come out. I don't think it was even "trying" to come out and I could sense that he was getting extremely frustrated with the situation by this time. He looked in and got another hold on the tooth, this time a REAL GOOD hold on it and yanked really hard. I heard a big "crack and his hand flew out of my mouth and I heard him mutter, under his breath, "son of a bitch, the tooth broke". Then he kind of wiped his sweaty forehead, looked down at me for a second and said, "HOLD ON". After all of this was said and done and thinking back on the situation now, I think that's the reason they used to use leather dental chairs, because my butt was probably trying to eat a big ole hole in that chair, trying to hold on with everything I had. After he gave me my fair warning about holding on, I kid you not, the doctor basically got on top of me in a straddling position and with all of his might, yanked the rest of my tooth out of my mouth.
Well, the doctor climbed down from his completely professional position, and had the assistant clean me up, let me drink some water from the cute little 2 oz. paper cup and let me spit some of the bloody water into the cool porcelain spittoon, then she put a big wad of gauze in the hole and once I was presentable enough for my mom, walked me out to her without saying even one word of the ordeal. Personally, I was glad it was over and I didn't want to listen to anyone tell anyone about how it went or in this case, how it DIDN'T went.
We drove the 50 miles home and I don't remember much else about it. I was probably in too much pain to care and mom was probably getting her story straight to tell my dad how much money she had just saved him.
Years later, when I asked my mom about it, she claimed no memory whatsoever of the visit. In fact, to this day, she still denies everything concerning this incident.
"Gee Mel, tell us again why you don't like going to the dentist"?
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
"HEY MEL, THIS IS JESSE"
About a year and a half ago, my brother-in-law, Jesse Young passed away. He was my sister Jeanne's husband. They live in Mesa, Arizona, but they used to live in El Paso, fairly close to my house.
On occasion, Jesse would call over to the house and he would almost always say, "Hey Mel, this is Jesse," for his initial response to my answering the phone. I know everyone has his or her own unique voice, some more unusual than others and Jesse's voice was no exception. Whenever I heard his voice,I immediately knew who it was even before he said his name.
Well, about 9 months ago, and about 9 months after Jesse passed away I was at work and I happened to be in the front office doing a little paperwork. At work, we almost always answer the work phones out in the warehouse because it's usually our home office in Ohio asking us to adjust an order in one way or another and the orders are near the warehouse phone. Well, on this particular morning, the phone rang and I kept waiting for someone to answer it, but for some reason but no one did. So after about 4 rings I reached over and picked up the phone and said, " LADD Industries, may I help you?" To which I heard on the other end of the phone,
"Hey Mel, this is Jesse".
Holy Crap!!
It was the voice of my brother-in-law who isn't with us anymore. I stammered for a second and then came back to earth realizing it was a guy from our office in Ohio named Jesse Avery. I started to laugh and then told him why I was laughing, to which he said he was sorry for my loss. I told him it was all right, that it was just that first instant of me hearing that term coming from a voice that sounded just like Jesse Young that kind of unraveled me for a second or two.
I told the story to a couple of people at work that day and we got a laugh out of it and later when I went home I told Debby, too. She also got a kick out of it. After about a week or so of debating whether I should or shouldn't, I decided to tell my sister Jeanne about it. She was cool about it and thought it was pretty funny, too, so I told here I was going to have Jesse Avery call her one day, out of the blue, so she could decide for herself if the voice sounded like her Jesse. She said she'd love to give it a try.
I gave it about a month and then one day called Ohio and asked Jesse Avery if he'd do me a favor and call my sister in Arizona, just to see what kind of reaction I'd get. He said he'd do it, so I gave him a small script and told him her cell number and what time to call. I wanted him to leave a message on her phone while she was at work, so that she couldn't see the phone number when she first heard it ring. Jeanne's pretty smart and I figured she might have been able to figure it out if she saw a phone number from an area code she didn't recognize.
Long story short, he called and about 5 minutes after 5pm in Arizona I got a phone call. She said something like, " It didn't sound too much like him. I knew it wasn't Jesse but it was kind of fun."
Now, anytime I speak to or email Jesse Avery at work, we always refer to each other as Brother-in-law or Bro.
If you didn't like this story, blame Debby. She's the one who wanted me to tell it.
"Hey Mel, this is Jesse"
On occasion, Jesse would call over to the house and he would almost always say, "Hey Mel, this is Jesse," for his initial response to my answering the phone. I know everyone has his or her own unique voice, some more unusual than others and Jesse's voice was no exception. Whenever I heard his voice,I immediately knew who it was even before he said his name.
Well, about 9 months ago, and about 9 months after Jesse passed away I was at work and I happened to be in the front office doing a little paperwork. At work, we almost always answer the work phones out in the warehouse because it's usually our home office in Ohio asking us to adjust an order in one way or another and the orders are near the warehouse phone. Well, on this particular morning, the phone rang and I kept waiting for someone to answer it, but for some reason but no one did. So after about 4 rings I reached over and picked up the phone and said, " LADD Industries, may I help you?" To which I heard on the other end of the phone,
"Hey Mel, this is Jesse".
Holy Crap!!
It was the voice of my brother-in-law who isn't with us anymore. I stammered for a second and then came back to earth realizing it was a guy from our office in Ohio named Jesse Avery. I started to laugh and then told him why I was laughing, to which he said he was sorry for my loss. I told him it was all right, that it was just that first instant of me hearing that term coming from a voice that sounded just like Jesse Young that kind of unraveled me for a second or two.
I told the story to a couple of people at work that day and we got a laugh out of it and later when I went home I told Debby, too. She also got a kick out of it. After about a week or so of debating whether I should or shouldn't, I decided to tell my sister Jeanne about it. She was cool about it and thought it was pretty funny, too, so I told here I was going to have Jesse Avery call her one day, out of the blue, so she could decide for herself if the voice sounded like her Jesse. She said she'd love to give it a try.
I gave it about a month and then one day called Ohio and asked Jesse Avery if he'd do me a favor and call my sister in Arizona, just to see what kind of reaction I'd get. He said he'd do it, so I gave him a small script and told him her cell number and what time to call. I wanted him to leave a message on her phone while she was at work, so that she couldn't see the phone number when she first heard it ring. Jeanne's pretty smart and I figured she might have been able to figure it out if she saw a phone number from an area code she didn't recognize.
Long story short, he called and about 5 minutes after 5pm in Arizona I got a phone call. She said something like, " It didn't sound too much like him. I knew it wasn't Jesse but it was kind of fun."
Now, anytime I speak to or email Jesse Avery at work, we always refer to each other as Brother-in-law or Bro.
If you didn't like this story, blame Debby. She's the one who wanted me to tell it.
"Hey Mel, this is Jesse"
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Sesos de Caca (Sh_t for Brains)
One really nice day last fall, around 9:00 in the morning, I asked Maria at work if I could take her car for a quick test drive around the neighborhood. She had just gotten it out of the shop and I was bored, so I used that excuse to go for a spin.
She said yes, and gave me the keys and off I went, not telling anyone where I was going. I work in a rather remote area near the Santa Teresa airport; mostly just a bunch of warehouses and some vacant lots and stuff. Nothing too exciting, to say the least. So, off I headed towards the airport. I decided to turn down a street that has no warehouses on it, just a turnaround on the end next to the railroad track and a left turn to go back to civilization. As I turned left to head back to work I saw a HUGE rattlesnake stretched out in the middle of the road. It looked dead, but it really didn't look like had been run over, so SMART MEL, pulled over to check it out. This thing was about 4 feet long and it was just laying there, straight as a stick in the middle of the road. I pulled up about 15 feet in front of the snake, got out and for whatever reason, left the drivers door wide open and walked back to check it out. As I walked closer to the snake I happened to look back at the open car door and thought, "What if this thing is alive and decides to go crawl into her car. How am I going to get it out?" So I walked back and closed the door and again began my investigation of the creepy reptile. Having grown up in the southwest, I know somewhat concerning rattlesnakes and I know they can be very dangerous. However, with that said, this particular snake was laying stretched out and it wasn't moving. Its tongue wasn't sticking out trying to smell me or anything. (My level of expertise told me that had to be a good sign)
I walked around it a time or two and nothing. Finally, I found a stick, and decided to approach it from the tail end. (Now that's good thinkin', right?) Anyway, the stick was about 2 feet long, maybe 2 and a half feet at the most, because that was the longest one I could find at the moment, and believe me, I looked for a longer one. So as carefully as I could, I stretched out my arm with my stick just as far as I could reach and began to proceed. Now, the plan was to touch the snake on the tail and observe what would happen. Remember, this thing really looked dead. Well, I observed real quick that it was indeed quite alive.
Now, picture this, and you can believe it or not, but when I touched the tip of the tail of that snake; and I mean the INSTANT I touched that snake on the tail, that thing came ALIVE!! It turned around, coiled itself and started shaking its tail so its rattlers would rattle. I swear, I have NEVER in my life seen anything move that fast. Most of you have probably heard a rattlesnake at least a time or two in your life, (at least on TV), so you know the creepy sound they make, and you know they mean business, too. Well, up close and in person that sound will send a chill up your spine.
Well, just as fast as that snake turned on me, I jumped backwards, probably catching at least a foot of air, and in mid air, threw the stick at the snake, said an explicative that starts with a capital, "S", came back to earth and did my best to keep my wobbly legs under me as I hurried back to the car and drove myself back to the warehouse.
After settling myself down back at work, I retold the tale to a couple of my workers, to which I'm sure they said to themselves, "What kind of pendejo, (Spanish for moron) am I working for?" Thankfully, they didn't get carried away with their making fun of me.
I went back a couple of hours later, but my "Possum Playing Friend" was nowhere to be found.
Thank goodness!!
While I was sitting there; this time in my own truck, I started thinking for a second about getting out and seeing if I could find him again. But then I had another idea come to mind that beat that one all to heck:
"Leave the thing alone you KNUCKLEHEAD;" and I went back to work.
She said yes, and gave me the keys and off I went, not telling anyone where I was going. I work in a rather remote area near the Santa Teresa airport; mostly just a bunch of warehouses and some vacant lots and stuff. Nothing too exciting, to say the least. So, off I headed towards the airport. I decided to turn down a street that has no warehouses on it, just a turnaround on the end next to the railroad track and a left turn to go back to civilization. As I turned left to head back to work I saw a HUGE rattlesnake stretched out in the middle of the road. It looked dead, but it really didn't look like had been run over, so SMART MEL, pulled over to check it out. This thing was about 4 feet long and it was just laying there, straight as a stick in the middle of the road. I pulled up about 15 feet in front of the snake, got out and for whatever reason, left the drivers door wide open and walked back to check it out. As I walked closer to the snake I happened to look back at the open car door and thought, "What if this thing is alive and decides to go crawl into her car. How am I going to get it out?" So I walked back and closed the door and again began my investigation of the creepy reptile. Having grown up in the southwest, I know somewhat concerning rattlesnakes and I know they can be very dangerous. However, with that said, this particular snake was laying stretched out and it wasn't moving. Its tongue wasn't sticking out trying to smell me or anything. (My level of expertise told me that had to be a good sign)I walked around it a time or two and nothing. Finally, I found a stick, and decided to approach it from the tail end. (Now that's good thinkin', right?) Anyway, the stick was about 2 feet long, maybe 2 and a half feet at the most, because that was the longest one I could find at the moment, and believe me, I looked for a longer one. So as carefully as I could, I stretched out my arm with my stick just as far as I could reach and began to proceed. Now, the plan was to touch the snake on the tail and observe what would happen. Remember, this thing really looked dead. Well, I observed real quick that it was indeed quite alive.
Now, picture this, and you can believe it or not, but when I touched the tip of the tail of that snake; and I mean the INSTANT I touched that snake on the tail, that thing came ALIVE!! It turned around, coiled itself and started shaking its tail so its rattlers would rattle. I swear, I have NEVER in my life seen anything move that fast. Most of you have probably heard a rattlesnake at least a time or two in your life, (at least on TV), so you know the creepy sound they make, and you know they mean business, too. Well, up close and in person that sound will send a chill up your spine.
Well, just as fast as that snake turned on me, I jumped backwards, probably catching at least a foot of air, and in mid air, threw the stick at the snake, said an explicative that starts with a capital, "S", came back to earth and did my best to keep my wobbly legs under me as I hurried back to the car and drove myself back to the warehouse.
After settling myself down back at work, I retold the tale to a couple of my workers, to which I'm sure they said to themselves, "What kind of pendejo, (Spanish for moron) am I working for?" Thankfully, they didn't get carried away with their making fun of me.
I went back a couple of hours later, but my "Possum Playing Friend" was nowhere to be found.
Thank goodness!!
While I was sitting there; this time in my own truck, I started thinking for a second about getting out and seeing if I could find him again. But then I had another idea come to mind that beat that one all to heck:
"Leave the thing alone you KNUCKLEHEAD;" and I went back to work.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Jerry B.D. Doogan
This is story of a joke I played on my brother Wayne, a couple of years ago. He works for a local trucking company and over the years he's had his experiences with dispatchers and at least some of them aren't the most positive. One day I decided to write a scenario just for him, and then call his cell phone, change my voice and read the script. Then I hung up and waited for his call.
Well, it took about 3 weeks to hear from him and it was really funny because apparently he fell for it. I guess he finally figured it out near the end of the call and busted up laughing, but at least I had his blood starting to boil for a little while. He called me and said he'd been letting everyone he could find, listen to it, until one day he accidentally hit the delete button instead of the save button, and it was gone.
I chose a person that I thought would be the kind of person that always has a big stinking cigar hanging out of his mouth, with a strong Texas accent and is in general, fairly full of himself.
Here's the phone message he heard;
"Yea Wayne,
My name is Jerry B.D. Doogan and I need you to call me at 539-4215, just as soon as you get this damn message.
This afternoon I was hired by Mr. Russell himself, to straighten out a few of his bigger problems here at Russell Transportation. I don't know just how soon I'll totally replace the jerk-water dispatcher he has now, probably pretty damn quick though, but Mr. Russell said for me to start working tonight and that's the reason for this damn call. Again, my name is Jerry, my number is 539-4215, and I need to hear from you right away.
In fact, why in the HELL is your damn phone not on all of the damn time? I need 24 hour access to all of my damn drivers, and Wayne, if you don't want to be on of MY damn drivers, then you just keep turning your damn cell phone off, and that will take care of that, "Muy Damn Pronto", and I hope you understand where I'm coming from on this.
I hear through the grapevine that you're a damn good driver. I don't know if that's self proclaimed or what, but damn good driver or not so damn good a driver, I have got to be able to get in touch with all of you damn gear jammers in a moments notice. That is my first damn rule. Well, actually, that's my second rule, my first rule is for all you damn drivers to understand that I am more important than God himself.
I need you to go out on a run tonight, without fail. I'm still having trouble getting hold of your damn runnin' partner, Jack Conrad, too. I think you two must be like two peas in a damn pod or something, because it looks like he's just as bad as you when it comes to cell phones. Just because you're both white and you're both married to Mexicans doesn't let either one of you off the damn hook. Hell, I'm married to a Mexican gal myself, and I'm damn proud to spend plenty of time with her too, but that's not the issue here. We're talkin' about being damned responsible.
Well, it took about 3 weeks to hear from him and it was really funny because apparently he fell for it. I guess he finally figured it out near the end of the call and busted up laughing, but at least I had his blood starting to boil for a little while. He called me and said he'd been letting everyone he could find, listen to it, until one day he accidentally hit the delete button instead of the save button, and it was gone.
I chose a person that I thought would be the kind of person that always has a big stinking cigar hanging out of his mouth, with a strong Texas accent and is in general, fairly full of himself.
Here's the phone message he heard;
"Yea Wayne,
My name is Jerry B.D. Doogan and I need you to call me at 539-4215, just as soon as you get this damn message.
This afternoon I was hired by Mr. Russell himself, to straighten out a few of his bigger problems here at Russell Transportation. I don't know just how soon I'll totally replace the jerk-water dispatcher he has now, probably pretty damn quick though, but Mr. Russell said for me to start working tonight and that's the reason for this damn call. Again, my name is Jerry, my number is 539-4215, and I need to hear from you right away.
In fact, why in the HELL is your damn phone not on all of the damn time? I need 24 hour access to all of my damn drivers, and Wayne, if you don't want to be on of MY damn drivers, then you just keep turning your damn cell phone off, and that will take care of that, "Muy Damn Pronto", and I hope you understand where I'm coming from on this.
I hear through the grapevine that you're a damn good driver. I don't know if that's self proclaimed or what, but damn good driver or not so damn good a driver, I have got to be able to get in touch with all of you damn gear jammers in a moments notice. That is my first damn rule. Well, actually, that's my second rule, my first rule is for all you damn drivers to understand that I am more important than God himself.
I need you to go out on a run tonight, without fail. I'm still having trouble getting hold of your damn runnin' partner, Jack Conrad, too. I think you two must be like two peas in a damn pod or something, because it looks like he's just as bad as you when it comes to cell phones. Just because you're both white and you're both married to Mexicans doesn't let either one of you off the damn hook. Hell, I'm married to a Mexican gal myself, and I'm damn proud to spend plenty of time with her too, but that's not the issue here. We're talkin' about being damned responsible.
TEAMWORK!! TEAMWORK!! TEAMWORK!!
That's my damn Motto!!!
Now Wayne, I'm going to build a damn winning team here at Russell, and I can do it with or without your damn help, because whether you know it or not, truck drivers are a damn dime a dozen in my book, and right now I've got a pocket just FULL of those damn dimes.
That's my damn Motto!!!
Now Wayne, I'm going to build a damn winning team here at Russell, and I can do it with or without your damn help, because whether you know it or not, truck drivers are a damn dime a dozen in my book, and right now I've got a pocket just FULL of those damn dimes.
So, I'll say this one more damn time and I want you to listen carefully,
My name is Jerry B. D. Doogan!! Call me at 539-4215. Damn it."
"click"
This was funny to me because Wayne said he started listening to the message and he could feel him self getting more and more upset; saying to himself, "Who the heck is this guy." And, "No way am I going to put up with this crap."
Anyway, we both had a good laugh. I hope you got a chuckle out of it too.
Anyway, we both had a good laugh. I hope you got a chuckle out of it too.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Full Moon over Texas last Night
Have you ever messed around at work and ended up the worst for it? Well, about 8 years ago I was clowning around at work and decided to show a couple of the guys, all Hispanic of course, my personal depiction of how a "cholo" stands. I guess I saw it on a cartoon or somewhere, but you kind of lean back on one leg and stretch your other leg out. (Please read the important note below before continuing this description) Now, make sure you have your outstretched foot in a position where you can tap your toe if you want to. (I think that's very important). Then, while you're in that leaned back position, slightly raise your shoulders back up until you're almost back into the upright position and you're there. Now, tap your toe.
IMPORTANT NOTE: Only try this position if you're willing to sign a waiver showing I am not responsible for any and all mishaps you may incur; since this is how I was injured 8 years ago. Actually, I think I was OK until I started tapping my toe.
Anyway, within a half hour I couldn't walk and I ended up going to a podiatrist and almost having my foot operated on to get a ganglion cyst cut out of the top of my foot. Fortunately, the pain and swelling went away and all was well until about 2 months ago, when it came back. This time the pain went away within a day or so and only left my foot purple for a week or so before it went away.
Well, yesterday afternoon at work, my foot started hurting again and before the day was over, I could barely walk on it again. It was bad enough that I barely made it to the bathroom when I got home from work, and in the words of my late dad, "It hurt so bad, tears were running down my leg". Well, almost. My ankle and the top of my foot had a big goose egg looking lump on it, A little later, I was explaining what had happened to Debby and she said I should call Dr. Rocky so he could maybe look at it while it was in its glory instead of after the fact, like the last time.
I called the good Dr's house and his sweet wife answered the phone and patched me through. The Doctor was in. He said to take some pain medicine and if I needed to, to come on over and he'd take a look at it. I let a couple of hours pass then decided to head on over to the Dr's house. Debby said she'd drive because she said I was in too fragile a condition; actually I think she wanted to show me all of the pot holes and rough roads she had discovered in the upper valley, but that's another story in itself.
Well, we went into their house and I took my shoe and sock off so the good doctor could take a look at it. I had already told him the story of the podiatrist and the ganglion cyst from years back and after his examination he concurred that it was indeed a cyst. After some in-depth detailed descriptions and explanations to us, Dr Rocky started talking "Doctor/Nurse" talk with his wife. (She is a registered nurse; For real, she doesn't just play one on TV.) Anyway, she said she thought she had some "such and such" there at the house and she left the room. When she came back, she told me she needed to give me a shot. Smart Debby didn't help much when she asked, "Isn't that a STEROID"? (Everyone knows what they say steroids do to guys, and I really don't need any negativity in that area of my body, thank you.) The "nurse" said yes, it is a steroid. So, fighting back the tears, I asked her if she was going to give me the shot into my foot and she shook her head and mildly said, "No". Then she pointed to what looked like her upper rear waist area, but said something about dropping my pants down a little bit. I think her rendition of a hip shot and my rendition of a hip shot are about 12" different from each other, but probably I was just nervous. "Side Note": Whether you realize it or not, there aren't all that many women who have seen my bare tootie, and I think I was afraid I wouldn't measure up, because I'm sure the good nurse has seen her fair share of butts.
Anyway, for a second, I thought I was going to have to lean over the couch right there in the living room, but fortunately she had me follow her into the kitchen. (I don't know if she noticed it or not, because I sure noticed, but her kitchen shutters were wide open during the entire ordeal.) The good nurse said I could, "drop em", or just "scoot em down" a little, that it was entirely up to me. Well, being the shy guy I am, I chose the scoot method, and I think my inhibitions are still intact. So I scooted my pants down a little, maybe a little too far, because I could feel my opposite cheek peeking out, but by then it was too late, I had to just grin and bare it. She put some VERY cold alcohol on the spot she chose and "WHAM", in it went. Do you want to know what she commented? She calmly said, "Gee Mel, you have really tough skin." To which I said, "Maybe it's a dull needle you're using, instead." She just chuckled and said it was a new needle she used. Then she wiped the area off again and said she hoped it wouldn't bleed too much and handed me a band-aid. A band-aid, no lollipop, just a band-aid. I pulled my pants up as quick as I could and we went back into the living room. She was probably laughing to herself as we walked in and I walked in feeling like a gelding, and an old one at that.
After a short while, we said our good bye's and our heart felt thank you's to them both and headed home. My manhood felt I should drive home because I don't think the boys could have stood any more trauma that night. After all, unbeknown to them, they were soon to receive a dose of some stuff they really weren't going to appreciate. (I guess I just couldn't see myself sitting in the passenger seat, feeling like a real panty waist while Debby drove us both home. I wouldn't know whether to cross my legs or just sit daintily).
Actually, it wasn't as bad as I make out. Dr Rocky and his wife are some of the very best people I know. They are both fun to be around and both have gone above and beyond in helping me in the many ways they have. I hope I can someday repay them both for all they have done for me. Thank You, both.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Don't Be Jealous!!
You will not believe what I got to do tonight here at the house.
Debby and I were on our way home from delivering our old dryer to the Young Women's garage sale site when she popped the big question: "Do you think you could pull my hair through the cap when we get home?" Well, as you can imagine, I was all a-quiver with excitement at just the thought of this experience, as it only comes around a couple of times a year.
So this is how it went; We met in the den. She came in with her hair cap on, (you know, the plastic one with all of the little circles on it with the little holes inside the circles where you jab an embroidery hook in it and twist around until you find a clump of hair and "gently" pull it out through the hole), and me with my shoes off and my pants half unbuttoned for comfort, sitting in a chair with Debby sitting on the floor between my legs. Methodically, I began the task, and since I'm the guy who gets regularly accused of being anal retentive, I naturally chose to proceed in neat horizontal rows, like a typewriter. I poked into each little hole from left to right until I reached the seam of the cap, then came back to the left seam and repeated the process down the back of her head, until I had what looked almost like a full 6" wide mo-hawk. I was pretty proud of myself at this point, because usually by this time Debby would be half in tears or at least have a fairly strong stink face on; claiming I was trying to poke a hole in her head. Well I guess she finally couldn't take it any more because she felt the need to "demonstrate" and explain that I should be pushing the embroidery hook in at an "angle", to go on the "side" of the scalp instead of straight in. DUH!!!!! (Or my all time favorite, DOY!!!!!)
I said that I WAS going in at an angle and she wiped her tears and was fairly quiet until the process was complete. (I don't know if she was controlling herself by practicing some sort of zen thing or if she just went to her quiet place.) Anyway, Debby reached up to feel if she thought it was indeed good enough to stop the torture, and fortunately for both of us, it was.
So as she stood up to go put a bunch of goop on the hair that was poking out, I glanced to see the beautiful job I had done and the hair sticking out reminded me of one of those hairy little dogs that always yap at everything, I don't know what they are called, but her hair looked like one of those dogs. My mental picture of that poor little pup showed a wide eyed, wild haired, in shock looking stare. Quiet, somehow knowing he or she just barely missed being electrocuted from chewing on the extension cord under the Christmas tree.
Anyway, off Debby went and applied the stuff to make her hair whatever color she chose, then an hour later into the shower to rinse off. When she came out I made the usual mistake of asking how it turned out, to which I was informed, " I don't know yet, I'll have to wait until in the morning."
I don't know if she's telling the truth about that, or if shes still stuck in her quiet place and doesn't want to come out.
Debby and I were on our way home from delivering our old dryer to the Young Women's garage sale site when she popped the big question: "Do you think you could pull my hair through the cap when we get home?" Well, as you can imagine, I was all a-quiver with excitement at just the thought of this experience, as it only comes around a couple of times a year.
So this is how it went; We met in the den. She came in with her hair cap on, (you know, the plastic one with all of the little circles on it with the little holes inside the circles where you jab an embroidery hook in it and twist around until you find a clump of hair and "gently" pull it out through the hole), and me with my shoes off and my pants half unbuttoned for comfort, sitting in a chair with Debby sitting on the floor between my legs. Methodically, I began the task, and since I'm the guy who gets regularly accused of being anal retentive, I naturally chose to proceed in neat horizontal rows, like a typewriter. I poked into each little hole from left to right until I reached the seam of the cap, then came back to the left seam and repeated the process down the back of her head, until I had what looked almost like a full 6" wide mo-hawk. I was pretty proud of myself at this point, because usually by this time Debby would be half in tears or at least have a fairly strong stink face on; claiming I was trying to poke a hole in her head. Well I guess she finally couldn't take it any more because she felt the need to "demonstrate" and explain that I should be pushing the embroidery hook in at an "angle", to go on the "side" of the scalp instead of straight in. DUH!!!!! (Or my all time favorite, DOY!!!!!)
I said that I WAS going in at an angle and she wiped her tears and was fairly quiet until the process was complete. (I don't know if she was controlling herself by practicing some sort of zen thing or if she just went to her quiet place.) Anyway, Debby reached up to feel if she thought it was indeed good enough to stop the torture, and fortunately for both of us, it was.
So as she stood up to go put a bunch of goop on the hair that was poking out, I glanced to see the beautiful job I had done and the hair sticking out reminded me of one of those hairy little dogs that always yap at everything, I don't know what they are called, but her hair looked like one of those dogs. My mental picture of that poor little pup showed a wide eyed, wild haired, in shock looking stare. Quiet, somehow knowing he or she just barely missed being electrocuted from chewing on the extension cord under the Christmas tree.
Anyway, off Debby went and applied the stuff to make her hair whatever color she chose, then an hour later into the shower to rinse off. When she came out I made the usual mistake of asking how it turned out, to which I was informed, " I don't know yet, I'll have to wait until in the morning."
I don't know if she's telling the truth about that, or if shes still stuck in her quiet place and doesn't want to come out.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Those Flippin Weeds
This afternoon, it was me against the weeds. Again!!
I guess it's because of all of the rain we received in January, but we have a butt load of weeds this year. Two weeks ago I sprayed all of the weeds. Then last week I sprayed all of the weeds, again. In most of the spots it looked like there was some positive effect, but then in other areas it looked like I had sprayed weed fertilizer on them, because there were some big bunches of the weeds that were just "waving in the air", and "smilin" at me every time I'd look at them.
So, to wipe the smile off of those stinkin weeds faces that were so friendly, I went out and pulled them all up. Their smiles went away, along with their scrawny long green necks and if it hadn't been for their sticker friends that poked the crap out of my hands, I would have had the last laugh.
I hope they all at least got to laugh themselves to death after I threw them into the trash can and closed the dark stinky lid.
Oh yea, after that, I went out to the front yard and mowed all of their little cousins heads off; and I smiled.
I guess it's because of all of the rain we received in January, but we have a butt load of weeds this year. Two weeks ago I sprayed all of the weeds. Then last week I sprayed all of the weeds, again. In most of the spots it looked like there was some positive effect, but then in other areas it looked like I had sprayed weed fertilizer on them, because there were some big bunches of the weeds that were just "waving in the air", and "smilin" at me every time I'd look at them.
So, to wipe the smile off of those stinkin weeds faces that were so friendly, I went out and pulled them all up. Their smiles went away, along with their scrawny long green necks and if it hadn't been for their sticker friends that poked the crap out of my hands, I would have had the last laugh.
I hope they all at least got to laugh themselves to death after I threw them into the trash can and closed the dark stinky lid.
Oh yea, after that, I went out to the front yard and mowed all of their little cousins heads off; and I smiled.
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