Tell Me Your Kidding

"Jesus, Marty...I'm not ready for this.."

Which is what the caption should read. The Main Man in Joisey is going to be out for up to four freakin' months because he needs surgery to repair the distal bicept in his left elbow. BTW, a distal bicep rupture occurs when the tendon connecting the bicep muscle to the elbow is severed, causing the muscle to break away from the bone. (Holy Crap!!)

The Devs will have to now rely on Kevin Weekes and Scott Clemmensen. Okay these boys can both stop the speeding biscuit but really, and please guys do not take offense to this, they are not Marty Brodeur. But there is only one Marty. And the Devils system has been riding the Martster for many many years and in my honest opinion have kinda failed to develope themselves a back-up goalie or two.

In 1990 they passed on Trevor Kidd and snapped up Marty..along with Mike Dunham and Corey Schwab in the same freakin' draft. Mike and Corey now having gone their own ways...we are back to Marty.

If their is any bright spot on this dismal situation is that the innjury happened early. Kev-o will come in with a GAA at just about 3, and Scott Clemmensen is hoveering at 2.5 GAA. Which really isn't awful for this day and age in the faster, stronger NHL.

So good luck Kevin and get well soon Marty!

Who Doesn't Want to Work Here?

I am speaking, of course about Seattle Grace Memorial Hospital. It's in Seattle, it's on the water, all the rooms have beautiful views, it's in a perfectly safe neighborhood, they have the very best docs in the country and best of all, all the attendings and interns are horndogs.

Really, if you cannot get laid working here, you should just throw in your scrubs and join the nunnery. Or priesthood. Whoops, bad example there. You'll definitely see action in the priesthood.

When the show first debuted it was Meridith 'Whiney-ass' Grey and doctor Derek 'McDreamy' Sheperd. There was Isobel 'Izzie' Stevens and Alex 'Angry' Karev. Later on it became Christine Yang and Dr. Preston Burke. Am I missing anyone? Doesn't matter...Over the last couple of season you needed a scorecard to follow the adventures of these trollops.

Georgie O'Malley was puttin' it to Nurse Harper..who gave him Syphilis...which she actually got from Dr. Karev.

When Meridith briefly stopped boinking the good doctor Sheperd, she was snaking (pun intended) Dr. Finn Dandridge, the hunky vet that was caring for her dog.

Introduce steamy Calle whatshername, who happened to be living in the basement of the hospital. George spies her dancing in her tighty-whities and then does the logical thing. He flies her out to Vegas and ties the knot. Soon after that, he and the missus have a spat and next thing you know, Georgie is having a roll with Izzie...or was it Meridith? Actually it was both...just not at the same time.

Alex (who also had his way with Izzie and Dr. Addison, McDreamys Ex) was introduced to the 'girl with no face' and he legitimately fell for her and he, I think, was gonna make her an honest woman. Even though she was in the process of running away from her husband and baby when the ferry she was riding hit a whale and blew up. Thank goodness SGH was right there! Whef! Had my life saved, fell in love and had my face completely rebuilt....which leads us to...

Dr. Mark Sloan. Dr. McSteamy has had his share of the lassies at SGMH too. Not to mention sticking it to his on-again off-again BFF Derek Sheperd's sister Nancy, Derek's former wife, his former tennis partners wife, and I'm sure one or two ahem...candy stripers. He alas has tried many many times to convince Dr Jessice Hanh to play doctor in the on-call room and is shot down every time..but we know why...

Her loins only tingle for Doctor Torres who is mucho caliente and may or may not be interested in a little girl-on-girl action. She flips back and forth between Hahn and McSteamy. She, as of this week, is torn on the sexual menu, not knowing if it's a Meat-Stick or a Furburger that she wants. So...she keeps sleeping with Mark Sloan hoping that will help her decided. But really, the only person that's helping is the slick Dr. Sloan.

That leaves us Chistina Yang. She's cute, cold, calculating and a very good doctor. She was due to marry the pyshopathic gay-basher, Doc Preston Burke, but he felt that, aside from Spanish girls, Asains are just downright crazy...foshizzzzle... and left poor Christina at the altar. She carried on and is now bunking with oh I dunno....who ever it is she'll be doing one of them eventually. And finally...

Dr. Owen Hunt, who came into the ER and impressed Christina by performing a tracheotomy on an accident victim with a pen. He also stapled his own leg shut without anesthesia! Whoa! now that's hot! He refused a job at Seattle Grace, preferring to go back to Iraq ( duuude! She wants youuoouuu!). But he did, to Christinas happiness turn up again and has taken a job at SGMH. So after he pulls a wild turkey beak out of her chin, they sharee a kiss it's only a matter of time before he's putting the wang to Yang.

So there you go. If you need to notch medical attention and a little sumpin'sumpin', Seattle Grace is the palce to be.


*Sidenote-It was announced today that Thursday would be the last episode Dr Hahn would be in. No reason was given by the network.

New Sofa

It's been awhile..I know. I'm trying to work on a really good post, not just these 'quickies' I've been doing lately.

Here is a pic of our new sofa. The old one was, well ,old and super uncomfortable. I mean, this thing had some very bad mojo about it. I told Mags it was cursed by her ex but she refused to believe it.

Interesting story this store we bought it from said their delivery guys would not remove it. I mean the sofa wasn't cheap and I figured the delivery guys would hook us up and at least take it to the curb. No dice. So the image you need to get in your head is of me with my bad back and Mags, with her bad heart, trying to wrangle a sofa-bed sofa that weighed at least 500 pounds out the front door. It was not pretty. Our home is small and we couldn't figure out how the moving men got it in in the first place. We got it to the door and that was it. Thankfully our neighbor from two doors down, Tony was out early with his pooch and saw us struggling. He smiled and said "you guys need a hand?" He is familiar with our physical situation and held up his finger. "Gimme one sec to get the dog in," and came running over. He then proceed, with little help from Meself, to get the couch over to the door. He stopped and though it out, turning the couch this way and that in his mind. Finally he said "Okay, we need to stand it up on end." So we wrangled it on end and then he said "okay you go out first to the left...etc, etc.." I lifted the end and pulled and then Tony pushed and the couch came right through the doorway. We both thanked him profusely and later in the week I brought him a small token of our appreciation. A twelve pack. Nothing says 'thank-you' like beer.

We put the demon couch on the curb and we put a "FREE" sign on it. Later that day I was awoken by Mags screaming my name. Certainly a 747 was about to fall on our house, our the Four Horsemen were at the door looking for yours truly. I jumped out of bed, got dressed in three seconds and ran down to see what was going on.

I was shocked to see two little guys from around the bend trying to carry the couch away! I went out and spoke with the young lad and asked what was up. He replied that he needed the couch for his tree-house! Ummmm...okayyyyy... I told him he should check with his folks and he said 'of course he did.' I told him to get a parent to help him move it and he was sure he and his friend could do it alone. Uh-huh. Well. Never underestimate the determination of a ten year old. Half an hour later, the boys were back and they had gotten the sofa on two skateboards and were wheeling it away! Clever!

So now we have a new sofa and it's pretty sweet. It will take some getting used to though, I'm used to sinking right onto the springs of the sofa bed of the old one. My butt is grateful.

P.S. Note CrazyDog sneaking into the shot.

This is Creepy...

When I think about my eminant demise, I tell Mags I want a trdaitional Irish wake. Lots of food, beer and laughter. I also told her one night, possibly after one or two pints, that I wanted a keg of Guinness by my casket. I wanted everyone to rest a pint glass on my casket and write their name or a message in the 'ring' the glass left.
Well, whilst searching iTunes the other day, I came across this song. It's by a band called the Push Stars and it's called....

"Put A Keg On My Coffin"

Put the keg on my coffin
and think of me every so often
have a 'Losers Day' parade for all my friends,
drink up life like a river 'til
the pizza man delivers
smile and know I loved you 'til the end

Well here's what you do
when my time comes to pass...
Charlie told me throught the reflection in his glass
Don't waste time praying
'cause I'm never comin' back
Just throw a party in my name

Put the keg on my coffin
and think of me every so often
have a 'Loser's Day' parade for all my friends..
drink up life like a river
'til the pizza man delivers
smile and know I loved you 'til the end

Well here's what you write on the stone over my grave
His friends were earned and a not a penny saved
Don't waste time crying 'cause you too are on your way
to meet me at the pawn shop in the sky

Put the keg on my coffin
and think of me every so often
have a 'Loser's Day' parade for all my friends
drink up life like a river
'til the pizza man delivers
smile and know I loved you 'til the end
smile and know I loved you 'til the end
smile and know I loved you 'til the end

Halloweeeeen....

Do we have the ghoulest Halloween stuff or what?? More pics to follow...

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.