The dentist recommends I floss at least once a day. Some days I don’t floss. And I still have my teeth. Take that, Mr. Know-It-All Dentist.
Advil’s recommended dose for 12 years and up is one capsule, then two if needed every four to six hours. Oh yeah? Well, I’m taking two pills. At the same time. Thaaaat’s right.
Whenever I’m in the Express Lane at Target, I like to buy a jumbo-sized box of lice treatment and some pink eye medicine. Then have the clerk check the prices over the intercom while I scratch my head and rub my eyes. Then I like to write a check. Then write the wrong amount. Then tear up the check. Then scratch my head some more. Then try a declined credit card. Then glare at the clerk. Then dig out all the change in my pockets to pay the entire amount in pennies, pausing often to rub my eyes. Then stick my hand out asking the person behind me in line for another penny. Then tell the clerk I change my mind and don’t want to buy anything after all and walk away.
Whenever my kids and husband ask me what I’d like to do today, I respond, “Sit.”
One time I almost ate a burger that was cooked medium-well.
I set up my Christmas tree before Thanksgiving.
For Christmas this year my sixteen-year-old son asked for “cold hard cash”. So I wrapped up a box within a box within a box within a box. Inside the tiniest box? A quarter taped to a slip of paper that reads: I love you!!! (true story)
Instead of slathering on sunscreen with SPF 100, one day back in 2007 I had to make do with two layers of SPF 50.
When my kids get into a squabble, I don’t do anything. I just sit there and ignore them until they resolve it themselves.
I once watched a video of someone skydiving. I shut it off before he landed because I just didn’t want to know the outcome.
In my work emails, I use exclamation points at the end of every sentence. And it’s not because I’m excited. It’s because I’m pissed off and my only defense is sarcasm.
When I’m served a bad meal at a restaurant, instead of sending it back to the kitchen, I complain to my husband the entire meal yet eat it anyway. Then I leave a 15% tip instead of 20%.
When a clerk tells me to have a nice day, I reply, “Make me.”
Reached down to pick up a knot of black thread on the floor only to realize it was a spider.
While reading books to my seven year old at bedtime, I either mumble ‘blah blah blah’ or make up the story as I go along.
“And so the three Bears came home and…blah blah blah…kicked Goldilock’s sorry ass out of the hizzle for good. The End.”
Tried to kiss my husband and ended up trying to make out with his nose.
Returned home from the playground with the wrong kid. And a very tiny old man.
For months thought I was watching the critically-acclaimed Netflix series: A Testes’ Development
My new look? Unibrow.
I can read a book only if I squint hard in bright light and if someone holds it up for me while they’re standing in Texas.
Mistook the microwavable cardboard sleeve for the actual Hot Pocket. Knew something was up when it tasted good.
Had a long bitch-fest about the Polar Vortex with a coat rack.
Told the police the suspect was between 80 and 300 pounds, between 4 feet and 7 feet tall and either male or female. Maybe both. Or neither. Might have been a coat rack.
Whenever I take medication, I just take whatever number of pills comes out with two shakes.
Accidentally discovered hemorrhoid cream shrinks under eye bags.
Accidentally discovered Ben Gay does not make a good toothpaste.
Matt Lauer is looking quite attractive lately.
I’m looking quite attractive lately.
Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t get new glasses after all.
So how’s your eyesight? Is it still good? Can you help me read my newspaper this morning? Yeah, just hold it up and stand as far back in the room as you can. It would really help if you’re in a country on the other side of the world. Thanks.
I recently had the pleasure of visiting with a local Ear, Nose and Throat doctor for some minor health issues.
I sat down on the crinkly paper in the examination room and waited an eternity for him to see me. My guess was it took him that long just to walk down the hall to my room.
Finally, the door creaked open and in shuffled a man twice the age of Larry King. I assume he’d seen a few patients in his time. Maybe too many.
Here are signs your doctor should probably retire.
Spends the majority of your appointment grumbling about those bothersome “new-fangled-demon-machine” computers and writes your prescription down on your hand with a sharpie.
After listening intently to your list of symptoms, he leans forward, scratches his head and sighs, “Well, what do you think’s wrong with you? ‘Cause I got nuthin.”
Points to a diagram of the digestive system and says, “Well, you see this here? No, really — do you see what this is I’m pointing at? Because I can’t.”
Points to a diagram of the throat and says, “Well, your problem is when you swallow the food it gets stuck in this little pouch behind the um….er….well, the actual name of it’s not important. Let’s just call it the gullet bag.”
Picks up a model of the female reproductive system and yells, “Jumpin Jehoshaphat! I haven’t seen one of these up close and personal since 1952!”
When you mention your asthma’s acting up again, he turns to the nurse and says, “Nurse! Quick — go get me the iron lung.”
When you complain of any symptom, he invariably has a story about a patient with a medical issue a million times more dire.
“So you say you have a sore throat, eh? Well, I have seen people coming in here with NO throats! None!”
“Oh, you say your back is hurting? Well, I have patients coming in here with no backs! None! Or throats for that matter! And they never complain!”
No matter how serious the symptom you complain about, he always dismisses you with a wave of his hand and exclaims, “Bah!”
“Doctor, it hurts when I breathe.”
“Doctor, my leg is broken in three places. I think I can even see a bone sticking out in this spot here — Oh god! — and now there seems to be a steady stream of blood gushing from the wound!”
“Doctor, I think my heart just stopped. And I see a tunnel with a bright light. And my dead grandmother..? Oh, how I’ve missed you, Grammie!”
In a somber tone, he says, “I’m sorry, but you only have a few days to live. You have an extremely rare illness caused by an unknown pathogen. No — wait,” he chuckles. “Maybe that was an old House episode I saw last night….”
He puts down his clipboard and says, “I’m sorry, but your condition will only be improved by plunging you into an ice bath, then bleeding you dry with a series of agonizing leech treatments. No — wait…” he narrows his eyes, “maybe that was an old Little House on the Prairie episode I saw last night…”
In the middle of an exam, he pauses, takes off his glasses, puts his hand on your shoulder, looks off into the distance and whispers, “Do you ever get the feeling that this hospital…all these doctors, nurses and patients…are just a figment of an autistic child’s mind as his gazes into a snow globe?”Then, after a long pause, you wave your hand in front of his face, he appears startled and gasps, “Huh? Who are you? And where’s that damn clam chowder I ordered?”
Anyone have any other signs your doc should retire? Or should maybe take up a hobby like golf or crochet or crocheting golf club cozies? Anyone have an ENT doc that’s taking on new patients?
11) When I raise my hand to ask her to repeat the last thing she said.
10) When I raise my hand to ask her to repeat the thing she just repeated–only this time, louder.
9) When I raise my hand to tell her I have to go pee.
8) When I then pause to say, “Wait a second…oops…nope. Huh. Guess I don’t have to go pee after all. False alarm. Carry on.”
7) Whenever I find the lecture boring, I light up a cigar and start knitting a sweater.
6) Midway through a lecture, I interrupt her with my best grumpy old lady voice, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blah, blah, blah. Is this gonna be on the exam or what?”
5) When I pass him a note that reads:
Pssst! Is this gonna be on the exam?
Please Check Box: YES, NO or MAYBE.
P.S. If your answer is maybe, can you be more specific?
P.P.S. I LOVE YOU XOXOXOXO
4) When I say, “Y’know…I’m very close friends with a certain Mr. Ben Franklin, if you catch my drift….and Ol’ Benji here thinks it’d be swell if I got an A on that upcoming Lab Exam.” Then after digging around my pocket, I lay a penny, my grocery list and an old moldy Sucret on his desk.
3) That I regularly show up to Anatomy class wearing my skin-tight body suit of the major organ systems.
2) That I have the words: PASS ME tattooed on my eyelids.
and the number one thing that ticks off my professors…
1) Whenever I’m in the midst of an intense exam and don’t know the answer, I bust out my kazoo and start skipping around the room, singing, “Pump-pump pa-pump, pa-pump pump-pump pump-pump…PUMP YOUR BLOOD!”
(it’s a shame Fonzie never shows up to convince Teach to give ME an A+ though…)
11) If I don’t blog, I die a little inside. Then I curse myself for being addicted. And I die inside a little more. Then I write a post about blogging. Then I cry in my beer. Repeat ad nauseam. Then I look up the phrase ‘ad nauseam’ to make sure I’m using it correctly or if I spelled it wrong. Then I realize it’s probably spelt not spelled. Like whilst or learnt…? But isn’t spelt some kind of bread my mom eats that has the texture of cardboard? Then my head implodes.
10) When blogging cuts into my sleep time. Also my housework time. But never my eating time because, let’s face it, food is necessary to keep our energy up so we can blog some more.
9) When you leave a comment you think is clever and original, only to realize you just said the exact same thing as the person about 20 comments up. But yours is riddled with typos.
8) When you publish a post you’ve worked on for days and it gets tons of hits and comments–then after awhile you look back and realize you wrote their instead of they’re….you’re instead of your, spelled weird, wierd and left out the last paragraph.
7) No spell check on your comments. No ability to edit your comments. Or delete them entirely because you’ve realized when you typed it out the previous night, you were drunk and had apparently lost your ability to spell or form complete sentences or make any sense at all and so you ended up just rambling on and on and look like the world’s biggest idiot kinda like what I’m doing right now. [I’m not really drunk right now, the idiot thing comes naturally for me]
6) You want to leave a comment, but the pressure to be witty or sound halfway sane is too much, so you panic and type: Haha! Good post! i really loved the part where you said the funny thing and then the other part where you said the other thing! you so funny! I love you! But not in a stalkerish kinda way! I swear!
5) Whenever I hit the ‘publish’ button, a mixture of shiny quarters and Skittles doesn’t come cascading out of my computer monitor like a slot machine.
4) You spend hours crafting a post, writing several drafts. You think it’s the greatest thing since beer can hats. So you hold your breath and publish it–this deeply personal creation…this piece of writing you’ve slaved over with your blood, sweat and tears, putting your heart and soul out there–and no one reads it or comments on it. All you get are crickets. Sometimes even the crickets desert you. But the super short post you wrote while you were half asleep, sitting on the toilet? Yeah, that’s the one that gets the most hits. Because you used ‘Justin Bieber’ as a tag.
3) You get set to publish a post about something so specific and random, so incredibly bizarre, you know it’s original (like a story about eating Skittles while wearing a gorilla suit and rollerskating), only to see another blogger had just posted about the same subject hours before. And theirs was Freshly Pressed.
2) There will always be a blogger out there that’s smarter, funnier, and infinitely more popular. Sure, I have 700+ followers. And that makes me think my little blog is getting bigger (and I know, I know… I am very blessed to have them all because during my first six months of blogging I had exactly two followers. I am eternally grateful for every last one of you guys. Never leave me, ever!) But it took two solid years of cranking out crap to get to this point. And yesterday I was waiting in line at Walmart behind roughly the same amount of people. Also, Danny Bonaduce has 10,000 twitter followers. Kinda puts things in perspective.
and the number one thing about blogging I’m not very fond of….
1) Whenever I corner a relative at a get-together because I want to tell them all about my blog, they politely hand me their drink, turn, then jump out a window.
What things about blogging do you hate (aren’t fond of)? Or is it all just unicorns and rainbows and Skittles with you? If so, can you throw some my way? Does my blog make my butt look big? What? Well, who asked you!
7) If he was asked: “Hey, Dad, is it okay if we fill these water balloons with whipped cream and chocolate syrup and throw them out the window at Mom weeding the garden?” OR “Hey, Dad? Is it okay if we stack all of the pillows and couch cushions in the entire house onto our sleds then slide down the stairs wearing underwear on our heads and shooting water guns filled with Kool-aid?” OR “Hey, Dad? Is it okay if we put on every single item of clothing we own, then roll ourselves down the muddy, grassy hill in the yard while shooting water guns filled with ketchup?” He would most likely answer with: “Sure.”
6) Ignores crushing chest pain and/or accidental kicks to the family jewels in order to continue the World Wrestling Federation/Tickle Monster/Let’s See If We Can Slowly and Painfully Kill Dad marathon.
5) Thinks a strawberry frosted donut is a perfectly acceptable breakfast.
4) Once dressed up as Darth Vader in public and it wasn’t Halloween.
3) Plays Mario Kart Wii, knows all the secret shortcuts, and thinks Bowzer is a real poophead.
2) Thinks Justin Bieber sucks, Alvin and the Chipmunks rock, and wearing a pink frilly apron while baking princess cupcakes is super kewl.
and the number one reason Dad rules…
1) Well, Duh. He’s Dad, nuff said.
(also loves to say things like, duh and nuff said)