Hello Surf Reporters! I hope your holiday week was pleasant. I had four days off in a row, and accomplished quite a bit. Also, I got to spend some time with my family — all at once. Usually it’s piecemeal, a person here and a person there, but on Wednesday we were all home together. It was nice for me, but I got the feeling it was little too much Jeff for everyone else. Oh well.
This morning, around 8 a.m., our dog Andy (aka The Finest Example) cut loose with a wild barking jag, and I heard someone knocking on the front door. What the hell, man? I worked last night, and was sleeping. Eight in the morning to me, is like 4 a.m. to regular human beings. What kind of lunatic was banging on our door at that hour??
I made an executive decision to ignore it. Eventually they’d go away, I knew. And they did. Probably just religious fanatics, I thought, and repositioned myself on the platform, planning to get a couple more hours of shut-eye.
Then I heard the heavy machinery crank up. The earth shook, and there was a godawful pounding. And it sounded like it was coming from our front yard. Shit! I sprang from the bed, and ran downstairs in my underwear and mustard-yellow “chick magnet” t-shirt.
The entire street in front of our house was filled with dump trucks, and various digging and pushing apparatus. And some guy with a cig dangling was creating a deep hole in the pavement, directly in front of our driveway. How was I supposed to get my car out?? I was trapped. Then I realized: they’d tried to give me a chance to move it, and I’d ignored them.
I pulled on some shorts, and went out there, anyway. And they allowed me to thread the needle backwards, between a deep hole and a telephone pole. But my car is down the street now, and my harrowing three minutes of imprisonment is over. It was a dark time, my friends… I’d rather not talk about it.
Four and a half hours of sleep is going to become a problem, though. I’m running on coffee energy now, but it’s gonna be a long day. Thanks, cig-dangling digger men! Thanks a whole hell of a lot.
On Friday I returned to the doctor, for the third time in three months. I hadn’t gone in ten years, and now I’m a regular. See how these things go? At first I thought I was doing the responsible thing, but now I’m starting to feel like a sucker.
I had an 11:45 appointment, and arrived five minutes early. I put my name on the check-in sheet, sighed with sadness, and took a seat amongst the Korean War veterans who were surrounded by scaffolding with tennis balls on the bottom.
Two people were talking politics in there, and shoveling the cliches and stereotypes as fast as their mouths could go. One was a young guy, in a ludicrous sweatsuit, and I instantly disliked him. He had an air of cockiness about him, and seemed oh so pleased with himself. Plus, he was wrong about everything, and completely predictable. I tried to make one of his chair legs collapse by concentrating my thoughts on it, but it didn’t work.
They finally allowed me to move to the exam room, about a half-hour into it, and the nurse checked my blood pressure. Despite the presence of Mr. Meet the Press out there, it was perfect — right in the sweet spot of where they want it to be.
Then I waited, and waited. And waited some more. I could hear old people talking through the walls, about their great-grandchildren, and their late husband Cyrus, or whatever. An hour and forty minutes passed between the time I signed in, and when I finally saw the doctor.
And by that time I was whipped into a full-on frenzy, and my BP was high when he checked it. He was confused, but I wasn’t. “I’ve been here almost two hours,” I said. “I’m a blood pressure patient, and have been sitting on this crinkly paper for a good part of the day. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy!”
He never apologized, I noticed. He just said, “Well, the second reading is explainable. I’m not going to change anything. Just keep taking the pills every day, and I’ll see you back here in three months. Call me if you start feeling dizzy, or anything like that.”
And that was the extent of it. I was there almost two hours, and was with the doctor for roughly three minutes. Maybe two. AND I got to write them a check for $25 on my way out the door. Simply excellent.
Nancy and her exotic children were here twice during the past few days, but I never saw them. She was reportedly in the mood to talk about her pending divorce, though — and nothing else.
Here are some quick highlights:
- The reason Nostrils cheated on her is because she’s such a strong and powerful woman, he couldn’t handle it anymore.
- She’s so good in bed he had to find a young inexperienced girl, so he could be the dominate one, for a change.
- She wants to start dating immediately, because she NEEDS sex daily, but believes she’ll intimidate men because she’s so intelligent, accomplished, and hot.
- All men are imbeciles, and marriages that actually work are deeply flawed. The woman, in almost every case, has forfeited her soul.
Also, she tried to stir up trouble between Toney and me. She started multiple sentences with, “But don’t you feel resentful about…” Fill in the blank. I guess she’d spent the previous four days in Canada, drinking wine with other divorced women, and criticizing men. She didn’t care for Toney’s lack of enthusiasm on that front.
But, we’ll be seeing her a lot now. I guarantee it. Whenever there’s upheaval in her life, she goes on the move. She’ll be up here once a month, I predict. You know, saying that all men are stupid in front of her three sons. Stay tuned.
I’ll be back tomorrow, my friends. We’re returning to the old way of doing things around here. There was way too much downtime; I was starting to feel all itchy and weird.
Have a great day!