Category Archives: Humor

February 1, 2012 · 0:00

Hey Doc?

Medical care in today’s America is really no more than a Ponzi scheme.  Just ask Rick Perry.

In my case, it seems that whenever I go to the doctor, I end up going to doctorS.  Plural.  Somehow, radiologists are always involved.  What did folks do before they split the atom?  I think all these tests is a Russian (Iranian?) plot to get Americans to wipe themselves out with radioactive dyes so that they — The Russian/Iranians — can take over our country and get up there on the CT Scan machine themselves.  They are seriously cool machines.  I want one for my living room.

Oops.  I digressed again.  So back to our hero in the U.S. medical system.

Me, I have a chronic condition that has a nasty habit of wandering around the temple that is my body.  (I am quite sure it is a temple, because it keeps expanding.)  So I do know the medical system, ummm, intimately.

No, no, no, the illness is not such a big deal.  More than anything it is annoying.  And gross. And time-consuming.  Because when I go to one doctor, she sends me to another, who invariably says, “well you know, you really should see … and along the way there will be tests.”  Needles will be stuck into veins, dyes will be injected, and incredibly disgusting potions will be consumed.  The doctors don’t feel a thing, though.  It hardly seems fair.

But I have something over most patients:  Doctors are terrified of me: 

I work in drug products litigation 

And

I am married to a lawyer

Besides,

  • I do my homework;
  • I ask questions that I have thought about in advance;
  • I write down their answers;
  • I do not let them leave the room until I am satisfied;
  • I call them with all those questions I forgot to ask the first time around;
  • When they don’t call me back, I threaten to haunt them after I am dead.

That last one is REALLY effective.

Tomorrow, I have an appointment with a new specialist.   So, I am taking bets here:

182 Comments

Filed under Family, Freshly Pressed, Health and Medicine, Hey Doc?, Humor, Music, Science, Stupidity, Technology

Tagged as , , , , ,

January 21, 2012 · 0:00

What’s in a Meme?

It’s more of a disease than anything.   Think Contagion.  Think Outbreak.  Think the combined scourges of tuberculosis, bubonic plague and flatulence with the Love Boat Theme playing in the background, with no mute button.

Yes, that’s how I describe the “meme” I got from Lori at Sunny Side Up.

A meme, according to Wikipedia, my bible, is:

an idea, behavior or style that spreads from person to person within a culture.  A meme acts as a unit for carrying cultural ideas, symbols or practices, which can be transmitted from one mind to another through writing, speech, gestures, rituals or other imitable phenomena.  Supporters of the concept regard memes as cultural analogues to genes in that they self-replicate, mutate and respond to selective pressures.

Yes, it’s a chain letter.

But, as I am a girl who can’t say no, here goes.

1.        Describe yourself in 7 words:

  • Irreverent
  • Snarky
  • Chatty
  • Storyteller-at-any-opportunity
  • Smart
  • Curly
  • Liar Literary-license-taker   

2.       What keeps you up at night?

The fear that some perve is going to want to know what I’m wearing right now.

 3.       Who would I like to be?

The Queen

 4.       What am I wearing right now?

            Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

 5.       What scares me?

 Repeating myself.  Repeating myself.  See Nos 2 and 4.

 6.       The best and worst of blogging:

  • Having an outlet to write and be appreciated
  • Falling into the black hole of posting, reading posts and comments, where there is no other reality and where no serious writing projects get done because blogging is just too damn much fun
  • Having things you wrote appear in weird boxes like this even when you don’t want them to.

7.       The last website I visited:

I did medical research just now here:  http://www.theslanket.com/

 8.      What is the one thing I would change about myself:

My liposuction appointment is on Wednesday, so I’m working on that one.

9.       Slankets…yes or no?

Absolutely.  How can I possibly resist something that will keep me warm AND fed while I fulfill my duty as a couch potato?

"Nicks Lunch" (no apostrophe) available for $29.99 at TheSlanket.com


10.   Tell us something about the person who tagged you:

Lori of Sunny Side Up likes to give me stuff.  She gave me my first award, the Liebster , which is for blogs with fewer than 100 followers. (I have dubbed it “The Award for Blogs Nobody Reads.” But that caption has NOT caught on.)

But Lori is unfailingly happy, optimistic, sunny.  And I thought the world of her until she was Fresh Pressed and I wasn’t.

Seriously Lori.  Don’t try that FP trick again.  Cause I’m watchin’ you.

Now, according to the chain letter, meme tradition, I am supposed to name folks who can carry on this chain letter  tradition.  But I am a non-traditionalist, so I figure I’ll give an open invitation to anyone who wants to tell about themselves, who needs a list to do it with, and who has strong feelings about slankets.

Go For It!

********

Sometimes blogging is an enriching, uplifting experience.  Sometimes, in researching a post, I learn strange and wonderful things.  But today I realized something frightening.  If a meme is “a unit for carrying cultural ideas, symbols or practices,” our culture is doomed.  And all because of blogs.  Remember the Slankets.  And be afraid.  Because the fall of civilization and society always follows when a society forgets how to dress nicely.

 

You too can decrease the surplus population -- and for only $29.99 at http://shop.theslanket.com


 

 

48 Comments

Filed under Awards, Childhood Traumas, Climate Change, Global Warming, Humor, Word Press

Tagged as , , , ,

January 17, 2012 · 0:00

People My Age

Well, it’s my birthday.  And I have a problem.

You might have noticed it yourself.  You may even have asked me about it.  Or wondered in stoic silence.   “Whatever will she do?” you asked yourself.  I am sure it has been weighing on you — heavily.  As well it should.

“FiftyFourAndAHalf,” that’s the problem.  It’s right up there at the top of the page.  Yup, the blog’s name.   I called it that in a fit of pique at the GOP who were going to take Medicare away from everyone under 55.  Starting with me.  It seemed grossly unfair when I was younger.  Like, you know, six months ago.

But, ummmm.  I’m not FiftyFourAndAHalf anymore.  I’m not even FiftyFourAndThreeQuarters, either — the name my son, Jacob, has been calling me.   Because my 55th birthday is here.  I tried to stop it, but, well, I failed.  My bad.

I didn’t know what to do.  I thought of taking a poll:

 

 

I must admit I was afraid of your answers.  More importantly, I was afraid that I had more poll questions than readers.

But then I saw this:

John Gorka, singing “People My Age”

It helped me make my decision.  It stiffened my resolve.  I wish I had thought of it sooner.  Like 20 years ago.  But back then, I didn’t know that people my age had started looking gross.

So I’m not going on to FiftyFive.  I don’t want to be my age, because people my age have started looking gross. 

I’m sticking with FiftyFourAndAHalf.

Man! I look better already.

107 Comments

Filed under Childhood Traumas, Climate Change, Elections, Family, Humor, Music, Science, Stupidity

Tagged as , , , , ,

January 14, 2012 · 0:00

Connections

My sisters and I never saw eye to eye; rather we heard heart to heart through our telephone receivers.  We lived a good distance away for most of our lives.  And so our connections, close as they were, were nearly always via long distance calls.

The ear pieces on the phone grew increasingly warm and comforting with each laugh, each tease and each word we spoke.  We spent hours on the phone, twisting the curly, stretched cord around our body parts, spilling out our hearts and our triumphs and our woes.  But there is no record, no evidence, and sadly fewer clear recollections.

So I made up some memories.

*     *     *

I began to question the wisdom of this trip as soon as the line went dead.

The call Thursday night was unexpected.  Sam and Dave – customers from the burger joint I’d worked in back home — had tracked me down in Boston.  I’d left home six months earlier, and was surprised that the guys had found me.  They had said they were in Boston often and promised to look me up – but so had a lot of people.

Six months away from home hadn’t been nearly as fun as I expected my “coming of age” to be.   I hesitated to admit that I was lonely and would love some company.  But I hadn’t even thought about Sam and Dave – forgotten them, in fact.  Well, I barely knew them to begin with.  Sam was tall, blond, nice smile.  A well done hamburger with fries; Dave was shorter with shaggy brown hair that he often pulled back.  He liked his cheeseburger rare with onion rings.  Both drank Coke.  One of them drove my favorite car, a 1974 Datsun 240Z.  Blue.

“Great, we’ll pick you up Saturday at 10,” one of them said.  Was it Dave?  He and Sam were on separate extensions and kept finishing each other’s sentences like an old married couple.

“Yeah, Steve gave us the address along with your number.   See you Saturday!” said the other – Sam, I guessed.  And then they hung up.

They didn’t leave a number so I couldn’t call them back.  For that matter, they didn’t leave their last names.  First names, a car (cool as it was) and burger preferences.  That was all I knew.  Yet I had just agreed to spend the weekend with them at the Cape.

At only 19, I hadn’t done too many stupid things with guys yet.  So I called my older sister, Judy, 24, who had.

“This is ridiculous,” I told Judy, pacing back and forth across my tiny apartment like a bobcat in the zoo. “I can’t possibly go.  I don’t know who they are.  And I can’t possibly call them back – they didn’t leave their number.  They didn’t leave their last names.  They didn’t even tell me where I just agreed to go.   God, this has all the makings of a Hitchcock picture.”

“Are you Tippi Hedren or Janet Leigh?”  Jude roared at her own joke.  “You’ve known these two cute guys for three years and never went out with them?  Either of them?  Or both of them – together?” she teased.  “God you’re boring.  You’d be Doris Day in a Hitchcock movie.”

“I’m just going to have to talk to them when they get here on Saturday.”

“Ok,” said Jude, swallowing her laugh. “You’ll talk to them on Saturday.  Good plan,” she burst out again, “especially because you can’t talk with them before that because you didn’t get their number,” she said, gasping for breath.

I began to relax.  Somehow, when I told my troubles to Judy, they stopped being problems and became situation comedy.

“You’re a huge help.  I’ll call you back next time I need abuse.”

“Anytime,” Judy said, hanging up.

I spent Friday at work bouncing between laughing and worrying.  I didn’t pack.  Of course I wouldn’t go with them – I didn’t even know their last names!

At 10 am Saturday the doorbell rang.  “Shit.”

“We’re here,” Dave or Sam said through the intercom system.  Another reason not to go – I couldn’t keep them straight.  I buzzed them in, and took a deep breath.  I still didn’t know what to do.

Did it take an hour for them to climb the two flights or were they upstairs in a flash?  Suddenly I felt queasy.  “Oh God,” I thought as I shut the bathroom door, “what would Judy do?”  I sat on the toilet for the longest time, trying not to panic.  At last, I smiled, shrugged and said “oh, what the hell.”  I walked back into the main room and said “I’m not quite done packing, but I’ll be just a minute.”

I threw a bathing suit, a change of clothes, and a couple of other things in a backpack.  “There’s just one thing,” I said, smiling at my dates,  “I’d love to drive the Z.”

*     *     *

Me, Judy, and Beth, a while ago

49 Comments

Filed under Driving, Family, Humor, Stupidity

Tagged as , ,

January 9, 2012 · 0:00

Word Press, I don’t “LIKE” this!

It happened again today.  I’m sure it’s happened to you, too.  Repeatedly.  And Word Press, you need to do something about it — right away!

What happened was this:  I was taking a nano-break at work, reading a post by Year-Struck that I did not “LIKE.”  Oh it was good.  Beautiful in fact, well written, and heart breaking.  But no, I didn’t “LIKE” it in the Word Press sort of way.

What do you do then, when a piece is sad and beautiful and makes you want to make the writer feel better for getting it off their chest, for sharing, for, well, giving their story? Me,  I stress out completely.  And I don’t “LIKE” it.

I have puzzled about this before.  When I first started blogging, I would read another’s blog and hit “LIKE” and then leave a lame comment saying,

“Well, I didn’t really‘LIKE’ it, but I clicked “LIKE” because, well, I needed to do something.  But I really am sorry that you were hit on the head by a meteorite…” And I’d trail off.  I’d feel inadequate.  As if there was something else I could have done.

You know, Word Press, sometimes I just don’t want to tell somebody who has told me deep, dark stuff through their blog that I “LIKE” it.  It doesn’t make sense.  It is illogical.  It is an oxy-moron to “LIKE” something “UN-LIKE-able.”  Because the post was bad.  Or sad.  Or hard.

And sometimes, Word Press, I just don’t have time to write what I mean to say in a clever manner when:

  • A blogger just told me the worst thing that has ever happened in their life and they still have the scars to prove it (hey, I “LIKE” it!);
  • A blogger just told me that they have a terminal disease and they will die a horrible death, soon, but that I shouldn’t worry — other bloggers will survive (hey, I “LIKE” it!);
  • My head has just exploded from the stress of not wanting to press “LIKE” but having no alternative.

Really, truly, I want to scream,

 All right, I “LIKE” it!

But I don’t.  “LIKE” it, that is.  I want something else.

So for the months I’ve been blogging, I’ve puzzled.  I’ve noodled.  I’ve even gone so far as to put on my thinking cap.  And you know things are pretty serious when that happens.

My first choice for an alternative was

S*cks!

But then I thought of my audience.  We are all basically insecure writers.  And I don’t think that everyone will TAKE that moniker in the manner I’m suggesting. Then again, some folks won’t USE this button in an empathetic manner.  But that’s, of course, highly unlikely.  We are all sweet and kind here in the ‘sphere.

Besides,  I also realized that if I continue using naughty language on my blog, my dream of one day being Fresh Pressed will go down in a blaze of language my mother wouldn’t “LIKE.”

I continued to puzzle till my puzzler was sore.  Until I thought of another option:

Sending Kisses to you!

Doesn’t that just make you feel good all over?  But then, some of us are married and our spouses wouldn’t approve even of cyber kisses.  So that won’t work.

What is a blogger to do????? 

Word Press, we need an alternative.

May I humbly suggest you create the following alternative to the “LIKE” button:

The 54-1/2 Button

Click on it when your heart goes out to the blogger, when you think that their writing is strong and powerful but tells a story that is not necessarily fun or funny and you don’t “LIKE” them being in pain.  Click on it when you think that a lovely photo of the shore will ease their pain.

Or click on it when you just want to confuse folks because they will have no clue what it means.  I “LIKE” doing that.

75 Comments

Filed under Family, Humor, Stupidity, Word Press

Tagged as , ,