Our Harrowing Day of Dentistry, and Everybody’s Favorite Pooping Songs

Cartoon-Tooth (1)Yesterday was strange. The older boy had all four wisdom teeth yanked, and his brother finally had his braces removed. It’s been a long-time coming.

All this happened early in the morning, before I’d even gotten up. But when everyone came home… the bizarreness kicked in. Our older son was messed up on a full smorgasbord of drugs, and acting crazy.

At one point I walked into the room and he was bent forward in a chair, spitting on the living room floor. I howled in protest, and he continued spitting. I got him a towel, cleaned up the bloody mess, and he just sat there with a string of drool hanging out of his mouth.

Later, he packed teabags into his mouth. WTF?? This was some real Sid ‘n’ Nancy shit. Toney was out picking up various prescriptions, and I called her.

“I can’t deal with this,” I said. “When will you be home?? He’s spitting everywhere… packing his cheeks with stuff from the pantry… What’s next, flour?! Navy beans? I don’t know what the hell’s going on!”

Toney told me the doctor said he could put teabags in his mouth, to stop the bleeding. So, at least there was some context to that weirdness. But he wasn’t really responding to me, and totally out of it.

Finally, she returned and took over. It was disturbing, and stressing me out.

“I guess mothers are wired differently,” Toney said.

“That, or I’m just a pussy,” I offered, and received no response. I quickly got ready, and went to work — a little earlier than normal.

Turns out, there was some wackiness with the younger boy, too. The orthodontist had been stringing him along, repeatedly saying she’s going to remove his braces, then wanting to give it four more weeks. This happened at least twice, and she tried to do it again yesterday.

The boy snapped, and went off on the whole staff. The doctor was yelling at him, he was yelling back, and eventually started crying. I guess it was a bad scene, and Toney told the orthodontist to just take the braces off. Enough was enough.

They fitted him with a retainer, and made them hang around until it was ready. Toney said the younger youngling just sat silently in the waiting room, seething with anger. When they got home, she asked him where the retainer was. And he said he threw it into a trash can on the way to the car!

I know I should be mad at him, but I’m not. In fact, it makes me laugh. As far as I can tell, his teeth are perfect. It’s time to move on. Seriously.

The good news? Both are home today, because of Easter, and are doing well. The older boy is acting like a normal human being again, and his brother is watching Beavis and Butthead, eating ice cream. I’ll probably go in at the regular time today.

On an unrelated note… I walked into a bathroom the other day, and took my place in front of a urinal. Beside me was a stall, and somebody was in there dumping and stinking the place up. People are disgusting. I could hear grunts, and low-grade thrashing about. What the hell, man?

And once I’d settled in to the task at hand, I realized the dumper was listening to music. Apparently he had earbuds in, and the volume was so high I could actually make out the song: “Shattered” by the Rolling Stones. With my shirt pulled up to cover my mouth and nose, I stood and pondered the appropriateness of the tune. Is “Shattered” a good pooping song?

I never really came to a conclusion, so I’ll let you guys handle it. If it’s NOT an appropriate song, what would be better? And why? Please use the comments section below to help me find closure on this important issue.

And I’ll be back on Sunday or Monday.

Have yourselves a great weekend, my friends!

Now playing in the bunker
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Filed under: Daily

  • Daytripper: Our Saturday in Manhattan

    NYC1 (2)

    On Saturday we went to New York City, to celebrate the older boy’s 18th birthday. It was on-again, off-again and I wasn’t sure the trip was actually going to happen until Friday evening. Too much chaos. There’s no planning anymore… gone are the days of the planning.

    At the beginning of the week “they” were saying it would be rainy and 55 on Saturday, which didn’t sound very good. But it turned out to be perfection. It was sunny and warm: the first gorgeous day of the year. Stuckes, the ancient god of travel, was cutting us a break.

    The older boy’s girlfriend went with us, and we left our car at a Park ‘n’ Ride in beautiful Secaucus, NJ. As soon as we got there a bus pulled up, and we were in a frenzy trying to buy tickets. We miscounted, due to the rush, and when it got to me… we were out of tickets.

    The driver sighed with annoyance, but told me to go pay and he’d wait for me. And as soon as I stepped off the bus he closed the door and drove off. WTF??

    Well, I guess I’ll be taking the next bus, I thought. So I leisurely bought myself a ticket, and went back outside. And the bus was stopped, about a football field away. The driver stepped off and yelled, “You coming, or not?!” And I had to jog a great distance, for reasons unknown. What was with this guy? I certainly hope he was enjoying himself.

    NYC2 (2)

    Toney informed me the birthday boy wanted to have lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe. “What?!” I whisper-shouted. “It’s like Friday’s with guitars. In fact, I think Friday’s has guitars.”

    “Well, that’s where he wants to go,” she said, drawing the negotiations to a close.

    They told us it would be an hour wait, which made me grind my molars for a couple of seconds. But whatever. I’ve gotten pretty good at rolling with it. Much better than I was ten years ago. The place was pandemonium, and we found a semi-quiet spot to hole up for sixty minutes.

    The kids left and wandered around Times Square for a while. And Toney and I chatted with a Hard Rock employee, who was very friendly. She lives in Queens, ya know, and commutes every day.

    The meal was fine, but WAAAAY over-priced. I think a little poop came out when I saw the check. Sweet sainted mother of Harold Hecuba! But again… just roll with it.

    NYC3 (2)

    Something kinda funny happened there, though. Toney told our cool-cat waiter that the boy was having a birthday, and he said, “Great! We’ll hook him up with a free dessert later. We don’t do all that embarrassing stuff here. It’ll be cool.”

    And after lunch was finished he brought out a sundae with a candle in it. Then he asked our son to go with him, to “meet a few people.” They walked out into the middle of the floor, and the waiter let out some kind of insane Tarzan yell, and the place went quiet. The music went off, everybody stopped talking, and it was total silence.

    “May I have your attention? This is my man’s eighteenth birthday today, and on the count of three I want everybody to wish him a happy birthday!” the waiter hollered, at a stadium volume. Yeah, very subtle.

    Then we started walking. We cut through Central Park, which was packed-out. The weather was perfection, and folks were taking advantage of the situation. The older boy and his girlfriend wanted to go the Metropolitan Museum of Art, so we walked all the way up there — which was about two miles.

    NYC4 (2)

    And then Toney, the younger boy, and I kept walking. We ended up inside some crazy candy store, called Dylan’s Candy Bar. Upstairs there is an actual bar, and Toney had a Pop Rocks martini. I just had a bowl of ice cream, and a gallon of water. We still had a shitload o’ walking to do, and I had no desire for booze.

    We were on the Upper East Side, home of the zillionaires. Very fancy, indeed. We just wandered around, went into some stores, etc. No plan, no hurry. But plenty of walking.

    We gave the museum-goers a three hour window, and once that closed they called and we told them where to meet us. NYC feels so safe, and easy to navigate now. I first went there in 1978, or thereabouts, and it was a crime-ridden shithole. Or, that’s what it felt like to me, anyway. Not anymore. I had no qualms whatsoever in letting the boy and his girl walk to the Central Park bench we’d staked out. It was twenty blocks or so.

    NYC5 (2)

    It was getting dark as we made our way back to Port Authority, and the bus to Secaucus. I snapped the photo at the top with my phone, in the middle of Times Square. It almost looks computer generated, but ain’t.

    The second photo is our view from inside the Hard Rock Cafe, while we waited, and waited, and waited. Then, of course, Central Park. That’s followed by a rare photo of my son and his girlfriend on a sunny day. And finally, the view from our park bench, as we waited on them to return from the museum. All the photos are clickable, in case you’re interested.

    We got home around midnight, and the next morning I felt like I’d been run over by a street sweeper, and dragged for a few blocks. I know we walked ten miles, maybe more. But it was pretty close to perfect: no problems, no stress, great weather…

    Some other semi-interesting things happened, too. But I’m out of time here. We’ll catch up next time. How’s that sound?

    Have yourselves a great day, my friends!

    Now playing in the bunker
    Treat yourself to something cool at Amazon!

    Filed under: Daily

    Early Porn Nostalgia, and the Internet Has Burned Out My Pleasure Centers!

    hiding somethingToday I saw a headline on Drudge which featured the phrase “lab-grown vaginas,” and I didn’t even bother to click through. It was mildly intriguing, but not enough to make me want to investigate further. It’s amazing how high the bar has been set, in this internet age. Right? A news article about a team of scientists harvesting a fresh crop of vaginas from the vagina vine? Ho-hum. You’re going to have to do better than that.

    Yes, how far we’ve come… When I was in sixth grade or so, a friend of mine spent an enormous amount of time and money at a seedy little carnival in our town, trying to win a deck of playing cards with photos of semi-nude women on them. He finally reached his goal, and the worker was hesitant about handing over the prize to us, because we were… you know, twelve.

    Anger flashed in the eyes of my friend, and he said, “If you don’t give me those cards, I’m going to turn over your fucking trailer.” He meant it, and would have at least tried. The carny could sense that fact too, and relented. “Just don’t get me into trouble,” he muttered.

    The two of us walked about a block, and ripped into that deck. The photos looked like they’d been taken around 1964, and were extremely tame. There was an occasional nipple, and that was about it. But it was super-exciting to us, and we kept giggling like Beavis and Butthead.

    I also got my hands on a catalog of “naughty” novelty items somewhere, and hid it in my room for a couple of years. I don’t think there was any actual nudity inside, but TONS of innuendo. They sold things like swizzle sticks shaped like naked women, and that sort of thing. Heh. I can’t remember where it came from, but felt like a renegade every time I looked at it. And a lot of energy went into hiding it from my mother.

    Later, we graduated to Playboy and Penthouse (and Swank and Oui), and had that stuff hidden all over town. There was so much planning and coordination… It might be why I worked in logistics when I grew up? Hey, I bet that’s it! It never occurred to me until now. I owe it all to porn.

    One day Steve and I found a stash of filthy magazines on my paper route, like nothing we’d ever seen. I think it was foreign, possibly German. There was actual sex going on in some of the photos, and everybody looked like drug addicts. One page featured a close-up of something that resembled a plate of manicotti with Parmesan cheese on top, but was somehow human.

    It was my own personal ‘Nam. Sometimes I still wake up in the middle of the night, screaming in terror.

    In any case, I’ve burned millions of calories through the years securing and hiding forbidden materials. Especially when I was young. And in 1976 I think I would’ve tunneled through a cinderblock wall to read an article about a vagina farm, or whatever. Today? I couldn’t even be bothered to click the link.

    For a Question, I’d like to know about your early porn days, where you hid your stash, where you got it, etc. Also, what tame things passed for “naughty” back then? If you have any good stories to tell on those subjects, please share in the comments section below.

    And have you noticed yourself becoming jaded because of the internet, and finding it more and more difficult to be surprised by things? If a person were teleported from 1975 to today, and plopped in front of a computer – what do you think would happen? Something like this? What are your thoughts? I suspect it would be too much, all at once.

    Thank you guys for contributing to the Surf Report fund, yesterday and today. You’ve already gotten me out of a minor bind, and I appreciate it. I will be thanking each of you individually, but wanted to do it publicly as well. Of course, if you’d like to donate and haven’t, you still can. The Buy Jeff a Beer page never sleeps.

    I hope you have a great weekend. It’s gray and rainy here: perfect!

    See you again soon.

    Now playing in the bunker
    Treat yourself to something cool at Amazon!

    Filed under: Daily

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