Update

For lack of a better title..

The weeks are flying by here, alot going on at work and on the home front. A couple of weeks ago, Mags had a visit to the doctor and had a small lesion on her back checked out. Turns out it is skin cancer. This is, incredibly, her fourth cancer diagnosis in her short lifetime. She will be faxing a biopsy report to a doctor this week and has a tentative appointment for the second week in November. If the doc looks over the biopsy report and feels things are more serious she'll get Mags in quicker. So say a prayer for my lovely wife or send her some good Mojo or Juju or whatever you've got.

On Weds. we were sitting down to watch Bones when the phone rings. Bubs says she has to call and ambulance for J.W. He has, somehow, ended up on the floor and can't get up. He's weak, and confused. We follow the ambulance to the hospital and after spending the next four hours waiting, we learned only two things. That my FIL may or may not have a raging bladder infection and the nurse in charge did not, for whatever reason, like me. ( must have been English) There was no other patients or their families in our section of the E.R. and since 6 family members were there, seating was limited. I found a wheelchair pushed to the side so I sat in it. Twenty minutes later, a security guard comes over and says " Are you a patient?" "No," says me. "Then I'll have to take this." I get up and the young man takes my chair. We all roll our eyes and laugh. As the night wore on and the clock was nearing 11pm, I noticed there was a football match coming on the TV that was above the bed (empty bed) next to my FIL. I put just the very edge of my right arse cheek on the bed, I mean, my ass is small as it is and just so little of it was on this bed. The nurse comes flying over, like I'm killing a new-born baby with a melon-baller and says "Are you a patient here?" (Wasn't there a Monty Python skit about obviousness or something?) I look down at myself and noticed I'm fully dressed and not wearing A: a hospital gown and/or B: a wristband stating I'm a patient and contemplate a smart-ass answer. I look up and see the vein that runs from her eye around to the base of her skull pulsating like a Geiger counter on Three Mile Island and say quietly "no."

"Well than you'll have to get off this bed!" I think for a moment about grabbing her by the back of the head and pushing her face into a bedpan, however her G.I. Joe crew cut will prevent this and besides I'm way too tired for confrontation. I simply stand up and walk over and stand against the wall.

An hour later, we were home in bed and J.W. was a registered guest at Centra State Medical Center.
We spent a few hours at the hospital visiting him yesterday and then went next door to our local Foodtown...whooaa wait SuperFood Town to do a little shopping and grab a chicken for dinner.
This morning I got up with CrazyDog and after I fed him and Chainsaw I made tea for Meself and settled into the throne and watched an EPL match I DVR'd on Sat. I like Arsenal and was hoping to see them lay a whooping on Hull but alas, Hull came away with the victory. It was a very good game but I was hoping for a Gunners win. Mags made a nice cake and we were invited to her parents (J.W. and Bubs) house for lunch to celebrate her Dad's release from the hospital. The man looks great I tell ya. He is tough as Chinese arithmetic. Now I know where Mag gets her toughness.
We also got to spend some time with Mags sister and her beau, who were both in town. They're both very cool and I like them very much. We played a game of Scrabble and then a game of Fact or Crap. A great game for parties or really any occasion.

We are now finally home, winding down. Hopefully we'll both have a nice, quiet easy work week....knock wood.

This Bed is Now Mine

So we got this nice big pet bed for CrazyDog. As you can see, Chainsaw has taken it over and deemd it to be his. Doesn't he look comfy?

You Are Kidding Me, RIght?

Okay. I've talked about the slag next door and her ducks. Yes, I live in a regualr ol' neighborhood, you know with cars and houses and all. Nothing that resembles a farm, petting zoo or a third world country (yet). The houses are actually very close to each other and most of the folks here are somewhat respectful of this fact. The crazy next door however, is another story. At some point she thought it might be a good idea to have a pet duck. Yes, a duck. This was three years ago. Since then, the flock has expanded. There are now, probably four or five ducks. They come into my yard from the back of her property because the fence she fought City Hall to have is incomplete. The feathered fuckers just waddle through the underbrush and come into my yard. They squawk, squat, crap, shed feathers, lay eggs in my yard and drive CrazyDog bonkers. A call was placed to the township and we were told that owning ducks was okay. Not against the law at all. Okay, whatever. Maybe she's playing the "I'm a poor, widowed, immigrant mother of three..and one of my kids is retarded, " card. So the Township looks the other way. Poor old slag....tsktsk.. Do I sound angry?? Just wait. It gets better.
The other day I was in the kitchen and peeked out into my freshly mowed lawn. I spied something odd at the bird feeder. I had to look twice because I thought I saw a rooster. 'Naw..nobody in a tiny little development where houses are four feet apart could own a rooster.."
Well the very next morning, at 5 minutes before 6 we were awakened by a bizarre sound. I peek out the bathroom window and sure enough, the rooster is in our yard, crowing or cockadoodledoodling, or whatever the fuck they do, away. I run out and chase the little prick away and guess where he goes? Yes. Right back to Manalapan's little slice of third world fucking Havana. The comb-headed cockbag starts this shit at 6am every morning.
Now thinking about silly stuff, like I dunno, a sound ordinance or maybe owning a yard full of bar yard fucking animals must be against the law, we call the Township and are otherwise. "Sure you can own ducks, roosters, llamas, an Alpaca, whatever man..." we're told. "If the rooster is bothering you need to call the Health Department." Uh-huh...so we did and we are now told a letter will be sent to the offending rooster owner and if the bird continues to disturb us we must take her dingy ass (the Slag, not the rooster) to court and sue her.
We are paying almost three thousand dollars a year in fucking taxes and this is the shit I have to put up with?? Seriously?? If I were living in one of those McMansions up off route 9, the Mayor would come out and kill the bird herself with a paperclip and a take-out menu, but since we're in a lower tax bracket, we can go spit...nice.

Coooool Gift

Check it yo...This is my awesome anniversary gift. A 'Nightmare Before Christmas' hoodie! Check out the detail..I really can't wait for the fall now. Thanks Q.T.