IT'S 4AM, WHO DO YOU WANT TO ANSWER THE PHONE?

We get a phone call at 4:45AM from our office manager’s husband who is looking for her.  

According to my wife, waking up from the phone isn’t nearly as bad as laying awake for the rest of the morning wondering where she might be at a quarter to five in the morning.

Turns out, she was driving to Georgetown to deliver a wallet to her brother-in-law who needed it before he went to work, and had left the house about 4AM.

The 4:45AM call to us, was her husband thinking she had the work phone and wondering where she was.

My wife calls me at the office at 9AM. 

“Why did “Duke” call at 4:45?  Where was Trisa so early?”

I hesitate for a moment, “Well I can tell you and it will take about 10 minutes, or she can tell you and it will take 45 Minutes, which do you prefer?

“Just tell me,” she says.

Have I mentioned that I haven’t started sipping my coffee yet?

“OK, Duke’s brother left his wallet, and Trisa took it to him.”

My wife goes ballistic.   “WHY DID SHE GO?!!! IT’S NOT HER BROTHER!  AND WHY IS HE MAD?”

“Good question….”  I look across the office at Trisa and I’m about to ask, but then I hesitate and ask my wife,  “WAIT…..Why are you yelling at ME?”

“’UGH!   CAUSE YOU’RE.....CAUSE YOU’RE, UGH! SO STUPID,” she says, as if that answer is perfectly obvious.  “I HAVE TO GO,” she says and hangs up.

This is a perfect picture of marriage.  

If you’re somebody’s husband:  1. You’re never innocent   2. In most cases, you can easily be replaced by the family dog.

My brain, although sleep deprived and empty of caffeine, is still fully aware that I played absolutely no part in this drama.  Nevertheless, I quickly rewind the tape in my mind:

4:45AM – Telephone rings

I awake abruptly, scanning the room for intruders, looking for a heavy object, smelling for smoke and trying to adjust from deep sleep to wide awake.

 One of my cats is staring at me, probably thinking, “You’re lucky I’m down here at your feet.  If I was still up on that pillow, and you’d jumped like that, you’d be bleeding across your face right now.”

Wife has unintelligible conversation on the phone.  Walks into bathroom.  I fall back asleep.

4:50AM – Wife begins talking as if I am awake.  She announces, “Great, now I won’t sleep, wondering where in the world Trisa is at 4:45AM.”

I think, Great, now I won’t sleep wondering if she’s going to fall asleep or keep talking to me.

6AM – Wife’s alarm rings.   


She has told me that her exercise program is called INSANITY because it’s difficult.  I imagine it’s called “INSANITY” because it is my opinion that anyone who gets up at 6AM for an aerobic workout has mental issues that trump physical health needs.  I keep this thought to myself.  

Now the cat takes its place on her pillow, next to me.  My wife mumbles something as she’s getting dressed. I don’t catch a word of it, but I can swear the cat rolls its eyes incredulously.

9AM – Wife calls me at office. We have the conversation above ending with the declaration….“CAUSE YOU’RE SO STUPID.”

THE TAPE IN MY BRAIN STOPS

I’m drawing a blank.  

If you’re married more than 5 years however, this is actually comforting.     Better oblivious to your part in her anger, than actually knowing what you did wrong.   That’ll buy you a few more hours of ignorant bliss.

10AM – Wife texts from an industry networking meeting that history has taught me is often a complete waste of time filled with stupid ice-breaking games and embarrassing exercises aimed at sharing “feelings.”  It is usually populated by 50 females, 1 or 2 males (questionably), and led by a kook or two with assorted graduate level letters after their names.

WIFE VIA TEXT:  “Right now I’m folding paper into a flower… 

10:05AM  WIFE VIA TEXT:  "Now we’re listening to songs and guessing what they are…”

After the second message, I text back: “It’s a good thing YOU went.  I’d be too stupid to participate.”

She texts back.  “You’re finally catching on?”

I smile. Apparently after 16 years with me, my wife is developing an inkling of a sense of humor.  

Then again, she may be 100% serious.

IN SUMMARY:

Went to sleep.  Awoke by phone at 4:45AM. 

Took kids to school, went to work.

Answered call from wife.

I’ve got it now!  How stupid of me!

BULLSHIT FROM PORT ST LUCIE

If you're not my mother, Carl's early stage Alzheimers can be pretty funny. 


 Mom spends a good deal of time mailing back products and canceling services. She has returned from a UPS drop off location where she was shipping back an expensive BOSE radio, only to find a UPS truck in her driveway delivering another one. 


 She has called to cancel an order for slippers, only to find Carl standing in the doorway wearing another pair, and she now has a strong telephone friend relationship with the operators at QVC, who inform her confidentially, that 25% of their business is from Alzheimer's patients ordering stuff that will eventually be returned by family. She is convinced many segments are targeted to the dementia consumer. Think Teletubbies. 


 What's fascinating about Carl's illness is its specificity.


 While he is totally functional and exhibits few other signs of memory loss, he has nearly completely blocked out everything to do with their financial difficulties. They lost all of their retirement funds in the Bernie Madoff scandal, and while mom understands the severity of their situation, Carl carries on as if it didn't happen. 


 He'll stay up late pledging money he doesn't have to obscure causes, or order from catalogs as if they'd just won the lottery. When pressed about these things, he gets a bit confused, and sometimes but not often, belligerent. 


 When mom needed to get online to check a Visa statement to see how many pairs of the same men's cotton brief's he ordered, or see if he'd perhaps recently contributed to a fund for underprivileged chimpanzees in the Congo, she asked for his online password. 


 "Carl, what's the password to the Visa account?"


 "Why?" 


 "Carl! What's the password?!"


 "Why do you want the password? Stop canceling my orders." 


 "Carl, I'm not starting this with you. I need to check the balance. What is it?"


 "It's bullshit, Alyse. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!"


 "Carl. Trust me please. We don't have the money. Please don't make it difficult. I feel horrible already."


 "Alyse, I'm telling you it's bullshit!" 


 "Carl, we've been through this before. I will show you the bank statements. There's no more money. Just give me the password to the Visa account." 


 BullShit! BullShit! Bullshit! I'm telling you, it's bullshit, and I'm taking the dog out." 


 "Fine Carl, enjoy your walk." 


 She walks into his office, and looks through his Visa statement files, with mounting frustration, until she comes across the initial statement from the time the account was opened. 


 On top in handwritten letters carl has written: 


 Username: AOKCBK
 Password: BULLSHIT 


 Alzheimers or not, marriage is tough. 


 Sometimes it is bullshit.

IDIOT INSURANCE

It's not easy being married to a therapist.


ME: (Via text) "Hon, I'm at Home Depot. I was going to pick up some flowers, maybe an "angel-themed" birdbath, but let's do that together this weekend"


WIFE: (Via text) "ARE YOU A COMPLETE IDIOT?"


Note: No - you didn't miss anything between these two lines.


There's a life lesson here for men. Even if your intention is totally selfless, and you think you've figured out something that may actually make your spouse or significant other happy, forget it; you are a complete idiot.


Luckily I have a wife who can articulate why I'm an idiot. You may need to pay a professional.


Along with a license to listen to people for $100 an hour, (more often 45 minutes, not counting the 30 minutes in the waiting room listening to recorded sounds of birds tweeting and toilets flushing, set up for the previous patient's (victim's) privacy), a therapist has a DSM book of diagnosis.


This is a paperback book, the size of a small chevy truck, that provides a numerical code for every known, real and imagined mental disorder, for the expressed purpose of insurance reimbursement. (NO I did not just make that up).


It's other purpose, if you happen to be married to a therapist, is to allow your wife to take any recent statement that you've made, and provide for you, not an answer to the question, but the formal diagnosis as to why you asked.


Initially, my diagnosis was "Complete Idiot." A disorder that falls somewhere between Attention Deficit Disorder and Zunich-Kaye syndrome, which is a polite term for Mental Retardation, and useful here because it begins with a "Z."


If you're lost as to why the quick diagnosis as Complete Idiot, from the single request to share some time at Home Depot, it's because you didn't spend twelve years earning a Masters in Counseling, and you probably don't own a DSM book.


Actually it's a DSM III or maybe by now a DSM IV book. Each time they come up with new excuses why people act like morons, they have to give it a name for insurance reimbursement, so the books get larger. They were going to put it on a Kindle, but despite the fact that we can now get the entire library of congress onto a micro-chip the size of a neutrino, the DSM books don't fit.


Stupidly, I chose to respond to the text with some truly heartfelt reasoning as to why making the front of our office building look nice makes me feel like I've accomplished something. Our daily routine often feels like we're on a hamster wheel, running fast, but getting nowhere. If I can personalize my office space, I have some tiny physical evidence of something changing for the better, and I enjoy a small creative outlet.


ME: Something to the effect of what I just explained above.


WIFE: "OMG! You can rationalize anything to yourself. We don't have the money to pay bonuses to our employees, or to pay back our start-up loans, but let's get a bird bath."


OK. In the interest of fairness in humor, she scores big there.


Plus, I suppose I should have read the financial concern into her question, "Are you a complete idiot?" What, did you miss that too?


A few minutes go by, while I'm walking the aisles at Home Depot considering how stupid I was to even think of texting my wife in the first place, and I get another phone buzz. I'm afraid to look; how many times can I have my balls snipped in one hour? Especially since I willingly exposed them to the chopping block?


WIFE: HONEY! I'm not mad. I just realized why you're doing this. I'll tell you later."


This of course means that she has pulled out her DSM IV, or perhaps by now DSM X book, and cross-referenced God knows what, to determine the reason I would like to plant flowers outside my office, and yes, perhaps place a small fountain or bird-bath. She is convinced apparently that this is some sort of disorder. If she can just find the code; 1. I am absolved of all guilt, 2. This may be reimbursable by medical insurance.


I too have been married 16 years, so I know what my wife is thinking, and it doesn't take a 1200 page book of gibberish to get it.


ME: "I'm in the manic phase of a bi-polar episode."


WIFE: "Yes! And I want you to enjoy it. Just don't spend any money."


Now, did you catch what happened here?


She was angry, until she found an excuse for my behavior. Then she felt bad for me, because there's a re-imburseable excuse for me.


Unfortunately we're not covered. My idiocy and bi-polar diagnosis are both pre-existing conditions.


I think they both contributed to why I got married.

SEX. WHO PAYS?

Am I the only one that suspects the Georgetown chick is probably a lesbian? Definitely could be playing collegiate field hockey.

Last I heard, they can't get each other pregnant?

Isn't that true, or has there been some sort of breakthrough?



Now - Let's do the math:

She says: Sex is costing $3,000 annually?!

Birth Control pills: $15 per month

This means a woman would have to be swallowing nearly 17X the amount of pills prescribed.

No wonder she looks like a man.

OR

A condom is $1 (Actually, probably less, but lets assume she's only letting luxury penises in).

If sex is costing her $3,000 per year, she's having sex 8.219191780 times every day, all year!

What does that make her? (Exactly the question Rush asked).

Either a 'slut' or a 'prostitute."

Let's hope prostitute because we should hope she's getting paid to do it 8 times a day.

Oh wait, that's pretty much what she wants us to do; pay for her sex.

No thanks.

Humor Blog Directory

WHAT'S YOUR MAJOR?"

I had lunch with a friend who told me his daughter just graduated from college as a dance major. My sympathy was left hanging thick in the air, left unspoken because If you’re the father of a girl, "Advanced Pole" obviously crosses your mind.

Reality check: Dance is not a freaking academic subject. It's voluntarily (usually) - contorting your body, often to music - or perhaps to a chant, as in the case of ritual sacrifice, devil worship or perhaps to make it rain.

If you can get the thought of sloppy drunk men stuffing dollar bills into your little princess’ panties out of your mind, you’ll wonder how else she’ll support herself if she fails Pole 101.

Obviously, there’s only one option, which is teaching dance. Otherwise known as siphoning disposable income from suburban single moms who didn’t pass their pole auditions either. So begins the viscous cycle.

At the university level, what do you do in a classroom all day when you major in Dance? What can you possibly do sitting at a desk?

I can think of very few people with successful dance careers. Let’s see….Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers and Gregory Hines. Maybe Mary Poppins. And then I think there’s a Geoffrey Ballet, but how the
Toys -R-Us Giraffe mascot relates to a ballet club (or troupe - with a silent “e” just to be more annoying) eludes me.

By the way if you want to name your kid Jeffrey, but opt for the spelling Geoffrey, you deserve a lifetime of painful kidney stones to make up for the total disregard for a life of ridicule you’re imposing on your son. Of course you may be one of the lucky ones who one day will get to see him perform Swan Lake in adult feety pajamas, and savor a singular tear of joy when some dude named Boris, Americanized to Bruce, hands him a dozen roses just off curtain.

So what are some electives when you major in a subject that’s really just a thing to do with your body? What’s the curriculum?

Nose Picking?

COURSE OUTLINE:
“By the end of the year students should be able to stick any finger up to the knuckle, pull out, roll and flick perfectly formed boogers in one fluid motion.” Life credit is given to all male class members with a valid drivers license, for their experience with this skill at every red light in history.

Students successfully completing this class are eligible for Hock a Loogey 101.

When my son switched from private Christian school where he was actually forced to think, to public school where thinking is severely discouraged, the idea of majoring in Dance with a minor in thumb sucking became perfectly clear.

I went to pick him up at school early yesterday and was told that he was watching lip synch practice.

This, just one day after I called the school to ask why he’s watcing Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs in science class and received a brief unintelligible note from his science teacher.

Excuse me? I said “Did you say Lip Synch?

Yes.

I picked up a stapler and smacked myself in the face with open end just to see if perhaps this was a weird dream, and I’d better get up before I was late for reality.

Six thousand years of history has seen many civilizations rise and fall. I think it’s safe to say we’re doomed.

Climate School - Change without the Hope

Follow me here, this is idiot proof.

Clear your mind. That means:

Forget what you've heard, forget what you've read.
Forget the inconsistencies and the false data
Forget the true data
Forget the 1970's when it was about cooling and an ice age
Forget global warming causes both greater warmth AND extra cold and snow?
Forget the politics of cap and trade
Forget the email scandals
Forget glacial melting and sea level measurements.

Now with a blank slate, pretend you took the short bus, wearing your hockey helmet to school today and follow along - It's simple!

Ever since God said "Let there be Light," or ever since the "Big Bang" if you've made "science" your religion - and we all see how well that's working out...But ever since whatever you perceive to be the beginning - The Earth rotates and revolves around the Sun.

WAIT! - Let's do this as bullet points for fear of losing some remedial readers -

The Earth spins on its axis.
While spinning, the Earth revolves around the Sun.
The Sun revolves within a Galaxy
And the galaxy moves too, and so on throughout the Universe.

With me?

OF COURSE THERE'S FREAKING CLIMATE CHANGE!!!!

THE EARTH SPINS
THE EARTH ROTATES
THE SUN ROTATES
THE SUN CHANGES, THE EARTH CHANGES
THE ONLY THING THAT'S CONSTANT IN THE UNIVERSE IS CHANGE!!!

We didn't cause it, and there is absolutely nothing we can do about it.

Get it?

IF THERE WERE NO CLIMATE CHANGE, WE'D HAVE TO THROW OUT EVERY LAW OF PHYSICS!

Now, if you've let that sink in - Allow your own imagination to guess why both bad people and well intentioned people want to ignore this in order to create policy that benefits their own agenda.

You see, there's actual truth (see bullets above) -
Then there is so called "science" - which can create or manipulate facts to any end.

Once you've grasped that you've probably been duped into whatever side of this argument you believe - because it didn't consider the larger picture - Think where else this has happened in society and in your mind, and why.

Next lesson, Evolution -

For all the same faulty reasoning, you somehow believe that you started from nothing. Life began as a single celled organism, that started from some chemicals, that came from no-where. You have also been taught to believe that your entire code in a single strand of DNA was not programmed and created, but happened by accident - AND you're willing to believe your distant family members were apes!

AMAZING!

Both of these topics, where we've pushed aside the obvious and replaced answers with man-made silliness, leave out one thing - or rather one person. GOD.

Believe in God and the scales fall from your eyes, and you see the Universe He created just as He created it, and just as He said so.

1 Corinthians 1:20 -

Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?