Jeff's Random Thoughts

Is there a doctor in the house?

2020-09-13T00:35:00.007-04:00

I visited a COVID clinic to get tested. Courtesy of a medical app I was able to see the notes the doc left regarding my visit. These are the notes with my comments interrupting in italics.

Nasopharyngeal aspirate swab as per IPAC/Public Health

Yes, it was a painful as this sounds

The patient has been instructed to return home for self-isolation x 14 days (instructions written out and given)

I guess he gave this to me with invisible ink...on invisible paper. He neither said this nor gave me written instructions.

They should await call from public health with follow-up of results and Should they develop worsening SOB,

...you calling me an SOB??

dyspnea,

I ordered that from McDonald's the other day with large fries

cough or fever, lethargy or inability to tolerate PO intake

I hate it when my PO intake sucks

then they should call public health so that they may be brought to ED

I take pills for ED

for reassessment. The patient has been asked to follow up with their primary care physician in 2-3 days for reassessment.

...this must also be on that invisible piece of paper...

I should get my results back in a few days. Can't wait to read the results. It'll probably tell me I tested negative...for malaria....

What I Should Have Known

2020-08-29T23:12:00.001-04:00

I didn't know what I should have known

And the thoughts I received deceived my own

My dreams were fancy and spoke of hope

With a wrought-iron future and bound with rope

Too meek to speak to the one with truth

Seeking stamps of approval to provide the proof

With needs comes wants and wants come bare

Without the need to want to be fair

In fact I claim to have won the race

And dare to spare the grin on my face

As I act and want and think and condone

If I didn't know what I should have known

Halfway

2020-08-29T23:09:00.000-04:00

*Warning: This is damn-long. If you want the Coles Notes version...well, there isn't one. What do I look like? Shakespeare?*

I've always thought of myself as being an optimist -- or at least trying to think positively. When going through a rough patch -- my late teens, my early 30's, the entire year of 2020 -- I try to remember to "face forward" and look to the future. I want to focus on the things I can control and change instead of dwell on what might have been.

The beginning

About a month ago I was visiting a provincial park about 12 hours north of me called Sleeping Giant -- Google it, it's gorgeous -- and I was on what turned out to be about a 4 hour hike. I was alone. Literally. I saw no other human being for the entire 4 hours. Now, as relatively new diabetic, that probably wasn't a smart move on my part -- more on this later -- but it got me to thinking about one of my strongest "facing forward" thoughts.

Years ago I was a half-marathon runner and one of the ways I kept myself going during a run was the notion of being halfway. Rather than thinking of the run as being 21 km (or 13 miles for you strange U.S. folks), I would focus on just getting to halfway. I *knew* I could easily -- or "easily" -- run 10 km. If I could just get to that point I'd be halfway and rather than counting up, I'd be counting down. It would be a countdown towards the finish line.

I began applying this philosophy to all sorts of things in life: A long-term goal, a project, a boring meeting, a long drive, a date... I found it was helpful and almost exciting in a way: I'm always looking forward! Get halfway! Perhaps even get halfway to halfway, then I'm counting down to the halfway point, then I'm counting down to the finish. It worked! It's great!

Halfway

Back to my hike in Sleeping Giant. About 2 hours into my hike I reached a dead end on the trail, for the lack of a better word. I could have kept going, but it would've been a lengthy, challenging walk that was above my skills (and equipment), and I realized I would have to turn and go back the way I came.

As I began to walk up a modestly steep slope on the path I notice I was labouring far more than I should. I was drinking plenty of water. My blood sugar was probably a bit lower than it should've been, and I forgot to bring sugar pills with me on the hike -- a big booboo on my part. (Yes, I said booboo. I don't see a problem with that.)

It struck me that part of the reason I was labouring a bit was because I was older. You see, in my mind I'm still this 18 year old full of youthful energy, curiosity, and excitement. However, my body disagreed with me. Vehemently.

I began to think about "facing forward": I was more than halfway and I was counting down to getting back to my car. It wasn't a 2 hour hike back, but 30 minutes to get to halfway of being halfway back. My body was fading, but I kept reminding myself of facing forward.

But a new, disturbing though crept into my mind: I'm more than halfway...in my life.

The Countdown

Suddenly the thought consumed me and overwhelmed me. I'm 49. Unless I live to something like 110, I'm more than halfway through my life. Perhaps I'm more than two-thirds through life. There was no rationalizing it; no making the thought go away: I'm in the countdown portion of my life. My 4 hour hike in Sleeping Giant was going from an amazing, scenic, secluded hike into a full-blown, panic-filled (and slightly diabetically dangerous) mid-life crisis. Though, arguably I was past halfway.

Now, my life didn't flash before my eyes. I didn't start sobbing uncontrollably. I didn't go buy a ferrari. (Ok, I *want* to buy a ferrari, but I can't drive stick, and I just got two speeding tickets, so I have to hold off on the whole fast car thing for now.) But I did think back about some of the things I did and wished I had done.

I wished I was before halfway once again. Given I have diabetes I wish I had eaten a hell of a lot more chocolate and a hell of a lot more cake. I love cake now, but I cannot have it. I wish I had taken up photography earlier. I wish I hadn't been so damn shy as a child. And I wish I wasn't halfway already.

Already.

This is one countdown I cannot stop. The conflict in my mind as I continued my journey back to the car was incredible. How do I face forward with the biggest countdown I have. How do I get excited about the fact I am counting down in life instead of counting up?

Halfway past halfway

My mind and body both were very tired during the final parts of my walk. I found myself weaving down the path, almost as if I were a snake slowly making my way towards some distant prey. I reached a fork in trail and I knew I had to go left, yet I stood at the trail signage reading it 4 and 5 times over to ensure I was going in the right direct. (I'm pretty sure I was in a mild hypoglycemic state at this point.)

Interestingly, my thoughts were focused on wishing I could share with "you" -- whoever the hell you are -- this story, especially if you're younger. Especially if you're still counting up.

Counting up

When you're young, you think you're invincible. You embrace life, take risks -- sometimes not even realizing it -- challenge yourself, challenge others, and look at the world in awe, fear, excitement, and trepidation.

But you do not think about the fact you're counting up and counting up to halfway. Once you reach halfway, you're counting down. I wish I had thought of that. I'm not sure what I would have done differently, but I would like to think I would've at least appreciated all those experiences more.

The end of the countdown

After staggering back to my car, I popped a couple of sugar pills, chugged more water, and closed my eyes.

I wish I had eaten more cake.

My First Facial Massage

2019-12-11T21:29:00.001-05:00

**Important note: This is about my massage and facial on my cruise. What’d you think I was talking about?**
*Editor’s note: Click-bait!*

Just to set the stage, I’ve had massages before, many times. I’m also on a cruise right now in the middle of the Caribbean Sea just having left Bonaire. (Yes, this was said to make all of you jealous – except for those of you who live in Bonaire.)

Without getting into details, I’ve had a bit of a rough year and I’ve been rather stressed (understating things a lot). When I saw a flyer on the cruise for a 75 minute massage, I jumped at the chance as it’d been a few months.

Now, I’m well aware that most massages on a cruise are actually “massages” + a chance to upsell every spray, cream, oil, and foam they have in their cabinets and drawers. “There. Do you feel more relaxed? I bet you’d feel even more relaxed if you tried our 1 ounce bottle of Ultra-Relax spray. Just one spray per day will make you feel so happy. It smells just like weed, and the bottle will last you 2 weeks. It’s on sale for only $200…”

The lady doing my massage had a very thick accent and a very annoying laugh. It’s not a bad thing she has an accent – I’m just horrible at understanding accents. So when she said something like “Bleh bleh bleh underwear bleh bleh bleh…” I’m not sure if she was telling me to remove my underwear or keep it on. I chose to keep it on.

She put her hands on my back and within moments I was in excruciating pain as she attempted to massage my back. There was more popping sounds than a 5 year old kid with ADHD playing with bubble wrap. “My goodness,” she exclaimed. “You’re as hard as a rock!”

Of course it’s as hard as a rock. You’re literally shifting my entire spinal column based on how hard you’re pressing into my back. I’m pretty sure my muscles don’t stretch that way. She was making me more tense, not less.

I asked her to go a bit lighter. She replied with “Bleh bleh bleh.” And laughed.
She did not go a bit lighter.

Perhaps she didn’t understand me. Perhaps she thought I said “I already feel better.” It’s difficult to speak when you’re wincing in pain as someone re-arranges your musculoskeletal system.

Like a steak being cooked to well-done, after 45 minutes, she flipped me over to do the other side. I was excited about the potential scalp massage as I love scalp massages!

Now I’m laying there, on my back, eyes closed, awaiting my scalp massage when I feel some wet things go over my eyes.

*Editor’s note: Again, this is click-bait!*

She had put cucumbers over my eyes! I had not requested this, nor was I expecting it and I’ve never had this happen before. Oddly enough, I somehow new they were cucumber slices. I’m not sure how I knew – it’s not like I’ve sampled a variety of fruits and vegetables with my eyelids, but I seemed to intuitively know that’s what it was.

Now I’m not sure what the cucumbers were supposed to do, but I felt instinctively I should pour some vinegar and olive oil over my face with some slices of mozzarella and call it a day. I’ve since been told that the cucumbers would help with age lines and puffiness. All I can say is after the session I didn’t look 10 years younger, but I’m pretty sure the cucumber slices looked 10 years older, so perhaps there’s something to that.

Perhaps those of you that have had *coughs* facials before can help me with this next bit. All I know is over the next 15 minutes, I’d feel her rub a cream all over my face…then wipe it off with a wet towel. Then wipe on a *different* cream for a few minutes and wipe that one off with a towel.

Then an oil.

Then some sort of scrub.

Then a cream.

But a different cream for the cheeks – the cheeks on my face!

I don’t think I’ve ever had that much of any substance on my face at any time. *coughs*. And she kept wiping it off over and over, so I guess it couldn’t have been that important.

Finally, while feeling relaxed with cucumbers doing what cucumbers do and covered in some sort of oily sheen, I hear this loud DING from a triangle next to my ear. She softly told me that she was finished and I could get up – at least that’s what I *think* she said given I was deaf in that ear, and my other ear could only hear my heart pounding in fear.

After removing the cucumbers, she lectured me on a ‘de-stressing mist’ that I should use – I kid you not – and then handed me the bill. Let’s just say I really could have used that de-stressing cream afterwards, not beforehand.

Interestingly, the moment I said I wasn’t interested in any sort of creams or mists, she said something to the effect of “Okthatsfinetalktoyoulateryoucangonowbye.” And opened the door. Oh, and she laughed again.

I slithered to my room, leaving a slimy mess behind me that only slugs could appreciate. I would have showered, but I’m pretty sure I would’ve created some sort of ecological disaster off the coast of Bonaire.

I’m no longer a facial virgin. Can’t wait for my next one…

*Coughs*

What Happens in Vegas...Gets Blogged

2017-02-16T15:27:00.002-05:00

I just returned from a trip to Las Vegas. It was my first time ever visiting Vegas, so I have some observations and thoughts around my entire trip. I'll get right to the point. No one likes a talker; someone who rambles forever. And ever.

Don't you hate that?

I do.

Totally.

The flight to Vegas
Wouldn't it be awesome if the pilots and staff got everyone in the mood for Vegas? You should be able to make bets on various events occurring!

2:1 odds the pilot will do a rolling take-off
An over/under on the altitude. "Awwww, damn! He only climbed to 38,000 feet and I had it at 38,500!"
10:1 odds someone gets caught smoking
100:1 odds someone is joining the mile-high club on your plane
Even odds that Trump writes at least one executive order during the flight

Vegas

My overall impression of Vegas: Niagara Falls, but drier.
I stayed at the Luxor Hotel. As a Jew, I found that a bit odd and uncomfortable.
To save a bit of time, I just gave random pit boss's my money. I don't even bother doing the gambling part. Saved me a lot of time.
The cup sizes for soft drinks at the buffet was ridiculous! They had small, medium, and olympic-sized pool.

The flight back home

I had a layover in Chicago. Once the plane landed and got to the gate, we all made that mad rush to stand up and grab our bags from the overhead bin to leave. However, the stewardess asked everyone to return to their seats. Immediately I knew something was up.

Everyone sat down and three massive cops came on board the plane -- you know, the kind that can't even walk down the aisles without having to turn sideways.

It was funny to watch everyone's reactions. You could immediately tell who all the guilty people were on the plane. There were so many people with looks of panic on their faces!

"OMG, how'd they know about the weed in my purse?!"

"Shit, the stewardess caught me watching that pirated movie!"

"Seriously? I'm going to get busted for not putting my phone in airplane mode?"

The cops surrounded a guy -- as best as one can be surrounded on a plane -- and escorted him off. Can you imagine being the guy seated next to him? You see these cops walking right towards you and you have every single petty crime you've committed running through your head.

As it turns out, the guy had been caught smoking in the washroom twice during the flight -- a big no-no. As I left the plane, the guy was surrounded by a total of 6 burly cops. I think that was pretty much the entire compliment of cops in the entire airport. Chaos ensued while this guy was busted for smoking.

Baggage

Hey, here's an idea: Wouldn't it be handy to know your bags were lost *before* you get to the carousel and wait for an hour as you watch the crowd slowly dwindle away? Don't you feel like a loser when that second-to-last person grabs their bags and looks at you with that knowing smile: "You suck."

Look, the baggage handler scans each bag. They *know* which bags made it on the plane. In fact, they'll remove the bags from the plane if the bags are on but the passenger didn't check in.

So if John Smith boards the plane, but there is no scan for John Smith's bags, can't some computer compare the lists and alert John Smith either on the plane or right after? It would be angering to get off the plane and be told your bags didn't make it, but at least you can begin to make plans immediately.

Instead of spending an hour by the carousel, you can spend an hour clearing customs and filling out those forms they ask you to fill out.

"Well, it was luggage. It had clothes in it. It is rectangular in shape. And I'd like to have it back, please. I gave it to you, so I kind of figured I'd get it back later. Kthanx."

"Don't worry, sir. I'm sure we'll have your luggage found and delivered to you by tomorrow."

"Wanna bet?"

Don't go breakin' my heart

2016-10-01T13:40:00.004-04:00

I'm watching the US elections from up here in Canada and man oh man, I must say it's quite entertaining! (Notice how I went from dog shit to the elections.)

Editor's note: The following views are meant in jest and used for entertainment purposes only. They are not the actual views of the writer, blogger.com, or any other sane human being

I swear it's almost like watching some sort of demented reality show. I'm waiting for Ashton Kutcher to pop out on election day and point to the cameras screaming that we've all been punk'd and then introduce the real candidates: Joe Biden and someone whose last name is Bush. (There seems to be a good dozen of them, I think, so pick one.)

It's like choosing between the liar and the sociopath. And you know what's interesting about what I just said? The labels are interchangeable. They apply to both candidates.

George Carlin, the comedian for all you young folks, had it right. “In America, anyone can become president. That's the problem.”

Trump scares me. He's full of little asides, conspiracies and catch-phrases, but I've yet to hear about a coherent policy that lasted longer then 5 minutes before he changed his mind. I honestly think he wants to get elected so he can re-brand the White House to be Trump Mansion and Casino and offer free cases of wine to visiting heads of state.

Hilary scares me. Every time I watch her, I feel like she's petting me on the head and there-thereing me. "Awwww, don't be scared of the taxes and the big, bad, email scandal. It's all ok. I'll take care of it. You just keep your head down and pretend to be happy."

Ultimately, when I'm voting in an election -- a Canadian election, thank goodness -- the question I ask myself is: Who do I want sitting at the table across from other leaders during a G20 summit? It's 'easy' to govern at home. You can say whatever shit you want and people will agree or disagree with you but otherwise go abouts their business.

But you can't do that around foreign leaders. You can't tell off a country. You cannot tell a leader to go fuck themselves. Well, I mean, you can, and if they're hot and all, maybe you join them in some kinky "international trade".

If you tell off the wrong guy, suddenly all the electronics being shipped into the country triple in price or suddenly oil seems to stop being shipped over, or someone decides to 'oops' a missile launch that slams into the U.S. I mean if it lands in West Virginia, who cares, but beyond that...

Speaking of Russians... (watch the segue here) ... I was visiting a cardiologist's clinic the other day and damn if I wasn't accosted by three large Russian technicians. Now in some circles that might be exciting, but I'm more of a square kinda guy.

I had to get an ultrasound of my heart, followed by a heart stress test, followed by them attaching a monitor to measure my heart rate for 48 hours. (If you want to know why I needed this done, have your people contact my people.)

The ultrasound was annoying as the Russian lady jammed the ultrasound device against my chest in order to get a clear picture (or 5) of my heart. She spent a good 20 minutes really leaning into it while I winced in pain. She continuously asked me to take slow, small breaths. Apparently she didn't hear my blood curdling screams. (I'm a hypnotist, not a masochist.) I'm waiting for the bruises to form.

At the end, I smiled and asked her if she could indeed confirm I had a heart. There was a small pause and she said "Yes, ok, please get dressed now." Ouch. Joke-fail. Russian judge gives me a 3.6 out of 10 on technical merit and a 4 on artistic impression.

The stress test was slightly more entertaining. I had to 'walk' in a treadmill with various electrodes attached to me measuring my heart rate. The treadmill would speed up incrementally every 3 minutes until my heart rate reached a certain limit at which point it would stop.

So after being wired up, the technician started the machine and told me the exercise was meant to get me tired quickly. I could walk -- not run -- and I could stop it at any time if I got too tired.

I asked how long people normally last and she said 6 to 8 minutes. Instantly, being the manly man that I am, I proclaimed I'll be on there for a good 10 minutes and he might as well go get a coffee while I break some records. The pace of the machine was brisk, but nothing I couldn't handle.

After 3 minutes, the machine kicked it up a notch. I started to lightly jog and I was admonished sharply by the technician. Jogging bad! But the machine was going so fast, walking was very difficult. I looked like some sort of drunken speed walker. My heart rate was picking up. Must. Get. To. 10. Minutes.

At the 6-minute mark, the speed went up again. No human can walk this fast. I tried as I desperately held onto the rail while my legs were flinging out behind me. The technician smiled. I smiled. I looked over at the clock. Seven minutes! Must. Hang. On.

At 7 minutes, 32 seconds, I reached the heart rate I needed to be at. I looked over at the monitor and the graphs were all lover the place. Rather than this lovely rhythm one normally sees, they looked more like some sort of earth quake monitor. I wasn't sure if I reached 150 beats per minute, or 4.7 on the Richter Scale. Regardless, the treadmill instantly slowed and I almost flung myself forward off the treadmill.

He brought up a 'comments' section on the monitor and noted that my heart had been at sinus rhythm (apparently at the beginning, because no way it was that at the end), and that I was suffering from 'shortness of breath'.

Well no shit! You just had me doing a spasmic version of the chicken dance for 7 minutes, so yeah, I'm going to have a bit of a breathing problem after that. Luckily, that rarely happens to me in real life, so let's not worry about it too much, alright?

And now? Now I'm wearing a heart monitor until tomorrow morning to see that my heart is normal. The technician, as she attached the electrodes to me, told me that I should "lead my normal life for the next 48 hours" as the machine records my heart rate.

So I went home and masturbated furiously. I'm waiting to get the report back: "We have some concerns. The entire measurement period you had an elevated heart rate followed by this sudden spike and then a drop in rate for about 20 minutes. Then it would start all over again....this happened 10 times."

Damn right! I'm a manly man.

You're getting verrrrrry sleeeeeepy

2016-01-03T12:47:00.005-05:00

Editor’s note: Jeff is a little tired and grumpy this morning after his sleep study, so he will not put up with bullshit. He expects you to find every joke funny and to leave plenty of comments. What an ass.

I’m back from my latest sleep study and boy am I tired. The irony isn’t lost on me.

Just to backtrack for a moment, I have sleep apnea and occasionally the various doctors in my life send me to a sleep clinic so they can monitor my sleep and make little notes on my sleep patterns – such as do I breathe while I sleep. Each visit has been rather interesting and you can read about two of my prior visits here and here.

This was my first visit to a new sleep clinic, so I was looking forward to the lovely amenities the sleep clinic offered. My previous clinic had free wifi, an ensuite bathroom with shower, a TV, a large bed (though not comfy), and I chose my bed time. Not quite the Hilton, but better than the Super 8 Motel.

I should have known I was in trouble right from the beginning. The nurse arrived in the waiting room to collect my health card. (For you American folks reading this, that’s because we have socialized medicine and we need a health card to show we’re not American.) I asked her if there was free wifi and she said yes there was and the password was the phone number to the clinic. “Oh, and what’s that?” I asked. “I don’t know,” she said and offered to look it up. Strike one. She didn’t know the phone number of the clinic she worked at. A comforting thought. I suddenly became proud of her for finding her office each night.

A few minutes later, she returned to the waiting room and called out my name by reading from my health card – but just my middle and last name. I looked at her and smiled and said she kind of missed the name at the far left of my health card. She looked puzzled and then realized her mistake. I hope I taught her a life lesson about how one reads from left to right as opposed to somewhere-in-the-middle-to-right.

Perhaps she was just tired. Strike two.

As I was being led to my room, she pointed out the communal bathroom/shower --- grrrrr! – and communal sink to get a glass of water -- grrrr! – and my room with no TV – grrrrr! – and then she asked what time I went to bed. I told her midnight and she said that was great – she’ll come in at 1030pm to

shut off the lights with a wake up time of 6am. We were getting close to this being *worse* than a Super 8 Motel…

After wandering down the hall to get a drink of water and waiting in line to use the washroom, the same nurse that had greeted me in the waiting room came in and explained she was going to be the one wiring me up. This is the nurse that didn’t know the phone number and couldn’t read my name on the health card. Now she was going to attach electrodes to my skull. Couldn’t wait.

First, she explained, she needed to use an exfoliant on little patches of my face and scalp to create a better signal for the electrodes. I jokingly told her she didn’t need to use electrodes because I broadcast in the FM signal band. She didn’t get it. I then jokingly said if she’s exfoliating small portions of my face, can she just exfoliate my entire face and maybe she can do my fingers and toes after.

She didn’t get that either.

After spending a good 5 minutes exfoliating seemingly random patches of skin on my face and scalp, she then took some paste and covered those clean spots and attached electrodes to them. There were 3 on my scalp, 3 on my chin, a couple under my eyes, and a partridge in a pear tree.

She then had me stand up and extend my arms to my sides. Apparently we were about to do some calisthenics before bed time. A second nurse wandered in explaining she was here to assist the first nurse and hey, that works for me! Two nurses fawning over me, attaching electrodes to my body? It’s kinda hot in a way…sort of.

While I was standing there, the first nurse was explaining how she’d be wrapping some bands around my chest. At the same time, the second nurse was behind me, putting on gloves. I’ve always found the concept of nurses wearing gloves to be odd. I’m not sure if they’re doing it for my protection or their own. “Oh my gosh! Look at him! I don’t want to get whatever the fuck he has! I’m going to put on these gloves and heck, we’ll put on this mask and full body armour just for good measure.”

So, being (semi) kinky guy that I am, I said out loud: “I’m standing here with my arms extended at my sides and there’s a nurse behind me putting on gloves. I saw a movie like this once.” They both laughed. I also wondered if they were going to spend the night sending shocks to my brain.

The second nurse noticed that the first nurse was putting some of the electrodes in the wrong spot. Strike three. They actually had a slight argument in front of me about whether certain electrodes were supposed to be attached to the top of my head or slightly to the side. I wanted to tell them to flip a coin and get on with it already, but again, I was already nervous about them shocking me all night.

Finally, they were done! I was wired up with no place to go. They gently laid me down in bed, wires dangling everywhere. My feet were totally hanging off the edge of the bed. Apparently the sleep clinic normally only dealt with small people.

The pillows were also fun.. As I laid down on them, they felt like they were literally deflating. I went from having two fluffy pillows beneath my head to these two dimensional, paper-thin wafers. I’ve seen soft pillows before, but this was ridiculous. I would’ve had a bigger bump beneath me if I was laying on two saltine crackers! These pillows were so thin, I could fold them up and take them away with me in my wallet. They were pocket pillows!

My CPAP mask was on, I was laying down, and that first nurse announced that she was now going to turn on the CPAP machine. She asked if I was ready. If I was prepared. That I should take a deep breath first. (Note: I’ve been using a CPAP machine for 5 years and she was aware of this.) She pushed the button and…

A loud whooshing sound came out of the machine. Why? Because she hadn’t attached the air hose from the machine to my mask.

Seriously.

Strike four.

Because of how I was laying down, all I saw was some frantic scrambling and mumbling. The second nurse glided in and calmly told the first nurse to turn off the CPAP machine and attach the hose. Meanwhile I’m thinking: “And that’s a wrap, folks! Can I get this order to go? I think I’m done here.”

They finally hooked me up – properly – got the machine going, and I spent the next 7+ hours being woken up periodically because of loose wires; my cold feet sliding off the bed and outside of the covers; the oxygen meter on my finger sliding off; and almost choking myself to death everytime I tried to roll over.

Basically your standard play party.

I was so tired this morning that as I was leaving the clinic, I almost walked into a mirror by the entrance that was a reflection of the parking lot. And now here I am writing this.

I’m afraid to shower because I fear that the first nurse accidentally left a few wires and electrodes strapped to my body and I’ll be found dead days later in some sort of bizarre post-sleep clinic aftercare accident.

Laugh, dammit! That was funny.

What an ass.

How to answer your phone and other ways to go insane

2012-05-21T00:23:00.003-04:00

Yes, it’s the “May 2-4” weekend and it’s time to get out and enjoy the bugs, bird shit and damp grass and earth. Fun stuff! To you Americans reading this, us Canadians celebrate Victoria Day in celebration of Queen Victoria’s birthday.

Who was Queen Victoria? Well, she was a…well…a Queen. And, well, um, it was her birthday once, and when she was alive I guess people found it important to stop what they were doing to celebrate it. And they always seemed to stop to celebrate her birthday on the Monday on the third weekend of May. Every year. And drive to the cottage and get drunk.

And the tradition carries on to this day.

As I wander the streets this long weekend, I will be carrying my new cellphone with me. It’s my first upgrade in 2 years and in turn, my first real “smart phone.” I do find it a little disconcerting I now hold in the palm of my hands a mechanical object that knows more than me – as long as I don’t go over my data cap.

Now here’s the thing: I build and repair computers. I have “inventory” of computer hardware. I even have a registered side business building and repairing computers. (Side note: Need your computer repaired and be hypnotized while you wait? I’m the one to talk to! I even have coupon days. Kidding.) However, I can’t figure out how to operate my damn cellphone.

I came from a time where phones came with cords that plugged into the wall and you had to spin a rotary dial to make a phone call. I came from a time where calling customer service meant you didn’t have to push 1 then 5 then 3 then hang up then do the hokey pokey, then call again, push 3 and get an operator who, after 15 minutes of conversation, would tell you you’ve called the wrong department and offer to transfer you to the right one only to abruptly cut you off leaving you to start again.

When I got my first cell phone, I distinctly recall it coming with numbers on a keypad that you could push to make a call and there was a handy answer button if someone called you. I also seem to recall it did those sorts of things because it was called a cellphone.

Now let’s move forward in time to one month ago. There I was, staring helplessly at my new cell phone while it vibrated in my hands and belted out some sort of horrific tune. I had a phone call.

And I had no idea how to answer it.

I glanced at the keyboard. I didn’t see any sort of answer button there. Maybe itwas there, but when you try to cram a keyboard that’s normally about 16 inches across into a space that’s about 3 inches across, you kinda lose track of what button does what.

I scanned across the keyboard frantically looking for an answer key. I found a key that had the @ symbol, but it also made the number 2 and it would auto-fill .comand if you held down SHIFT and ALT and @ at the same time, it would send flowers to your girlfriend, but nope, no sign of an answer key.

“Ah ha!” I thought. “What about the touch screen! Maybe something about the touch screen makes me answer the phone!” I touched the screen. The screen didn’t react. It just showed a constant background. I touched it again. Nothing. I touched it a third time with still no reaction. I was going to touch it a fourth time, but I was concerned about the phone either laughing at me or threatening a sexual harassment lawsuit.

I then noticed what appeared to be some sort of arrow-like slider at the bottom of the touch screen with a lock on one side of it.

“It’s locked!” I yelled to no one in particular over the now blaring music emanating from my phone.

I pushed the lock icon expecting it to become unlocked. Nope. I pushed harder. Nope. I pushed on it twice quickly – double-clicking, if you will. Nope.

At this point I debated on whether or not to start talking to my phone. Reason with it. Plead with it. Try different phrases. Answer. Open. Pick up. Unlock.

I figured talking to it would make me sound even weirder than normal, so I gave up, but as I grasped the phone to put it back in my pocket, I noticed that my thumb caused the lock to move slightly to one side.

IT’S A SLIDER!!

I frantically wiggled and slid my finger back and forth across the screen that made nearby women wet just by watching me. One of them even gave me her phone number and asked me if we could role play pretending she was a ringing iPhone. In my most seductive tone, I told her I’d be very interested and what ring tone would she scream out when I made her ring.

She took back her phone number.

I put the phone to my ear, crying out a hello. No answer. Ah, I’m holding the phone backwards. Adjust. Another hello. “Can you hear me?” I said, as I assumed the infamous cell phone pose.

You know the pose? Phone in one ear, finger in your other ear? It’s like you’re trying to keep your brains from leaking out after they melt from the radiation spewing out from your cell phone.

I heard a voice at the other end – it’s working! They asked if Gagandeep was there. Wrong number. They apologized and hung up. I had worked up a sweat. I was shaking. I needed water. But I had answered my new smart phone for the first time.

Now, how do I hang up the phone...

You know what would make a smart phone smart? If it knew it was a wrong phone number and just hung up on them, now that would be a smart phone!

Frankly, given the way smart phones are set up these days, the ability to send and receive actual phone calls is very much a secondary feature. Its primary purpose is to text, take pictures and videos and steal porn using your neighbours WIFI. I predict in 5 years you’ll have to pay extra to have the “bonus feature” of having the ability to send and receive phone calls. You heard it here first, folks!

Enough about my phone. Time for some random thoughts. They’re mobile-friendly, too.

Is it possible to fail at doing a car crash-test? How would that work? “We tried to ram that car into a wall and it missed?”
I wish I were invisible. If I was, the first thing I’d do is go around from house to house and reverse all the toilet paper rolls in everyone’s washroom.
Rather than tossing doves in the air at a wedding, I say you toss squirrels. If anyone catches one, as tradition goes, they’re the next one to go nuts
Poor career choice: an armless mime
I’d like to harness the technology dogs use to shake themselves dry. They could be sopping wet after standing out in the rain for 10 minutes, yet they can walk indoors, shake for 30 seconds, and they’re not only dry, their fur is right back to how it was in the first place. I want to do that! Can you imagine? You finish your shower, step out, shake for a few seconds and you’re not only dry, but your hair is set the way you want?
Most frustrating thing in the world: You’re hungry and the vending machine will not accept your change. Is there anything more frustrating? Think about it.
In order to help save the environment, from now on, all light bulbs that go on over your head when you have an idea must be a fluorescent bulb. Yes, they cost more, but you’ll get ideas for 7 years before having to replace it.
I want to be a consultant. I wonder who I should talk to about that to help me decide…
Screw having a Jack Russell Terrier. I want to have a Jack Daniels Terrier. Way more mellow, relaxed dog.

Speaking of random thoughts, I was speaking to a friend of mine about random thoughts and if they ever creep into the hypnotic commands I give whenever I’m doing a session. (For those of you reading who may not know, I'm a hypnotist). I answered no, they usually don’t, but it got me thinking.

That’s usually a bad thing because it means I come up with answers…and write them down in a journal.

Below are some silly post-hypnotic commands I may give in the future. Fair warning!

"You will put relish on your hotdog only from right to left."
"You will consider the chicken dance to be a piece of art"
"There will be no right angles in your household"
"You will never use a salad fork again"
"All colours of your socks must be Disney-themed"
“At the end of every telephone conversation, you will ask ‘And would you like fries with that?’”
“You will fully believe you’ve been misled all these years and in fact it islogs that are man’s best friend.”
“You will vote for Mitt Romney.”

Alright, that’s all for this post, folks. It’s time for the long weekend and some fun with friends. Hopefully I’ll be able to figure out how to call them before the weekend is over.

Some Like It Hot

2011-07-19T10:39:00.000-04:00

It's been 3 1/2 weeks since there was any rain. The current forecast suggests it might rain...on August 1st. It's July 19th right now. That could mean 5 1/2 weeks of no rain and since that's a long-range forecast anyways, it's likely to be wrong. Hell, tomorrow's forecast is likely to be wrong.

At a certain point, does it really matter if it's 103F or 113F? Can someone really tell the difference at that point? When it's 103F are there people saying "...well at least it's not 113!" At a certain point, temperature no longer matters. The weather forecast should simply be: "It's fucking hot with no chance of rain," and leave it like that. Imagine your local weather forecaster saying that during the evening news -- with a smile on their face: "Thanks, Bob, this weather forecast is brought to you by Gina's Snack And Wrap. When you need a snack, it's a wrap! Today's forecast is incredibly fucking hot once again! Not a cloud in the sky for the next week, folks, so my 7-day forecast remains the same: Fucking hot times 7. Back to you, Bob."

Time for another random post of random thoughts and random ideas in a random order. Just a short one for today, though.

My phone died yesterday. Where do people put phones once they die? Is there a ceremony first? I put mine in my garden with a little headstone: Sony Ericsson c. 2011-2011. May it ring in peace.
I've always found it odd that I dispense with advice. Doesn't that sound like it's just something I'm trying to get rid of? "I have this bullshit advice stuck in my head. If I could only get rid of it. Hey! Bob! Want some advice?"
Support bra: "Come on, boobs, you can do it! Hang in there!"
People who are not the centre of attention are considered to be off-centre of attention.
In order to reduce the amount of NIMBY-ism, from now on, all major projects will be constructed in front of houses.
Elephant toilet paper must be massive!
The hypnotists' union always seem to win their contract negotiations.
You're driving along a roadway and some complete stranger actually tries to flag you down so they can hop in your car. Would you pick them up? Of course not. Now think of what cab drivers do daily.
Unstable people should randomly display a Blue Screen of Death in the middle of a conversation
Wouldn't it be cool if all drugs came in the form of gummi bears? No more injections, pills, or IVs! "He's having a heart attack! Quick, get me two red and three green gummis, stat!"
When I hear that it's so hot out, you could fry an egg on the sidewalk, I don't get it. If it's that hot, why just fry an egg? Let's go all out! Give me a steak, some potatoes and maybe some asparagus -- just to be healthy.
Any zoo can be a petting zoo if you try hard enough

My Butt

2011-07-11T10:51:00.000-04:00

Warning: Graphic content. This is a story about my butt and the contents thereof. Viewer discretion is advised.

Editor’s note: This actually happened in December, 2009, but was not posted on my regular blog as originally intended. Since then, the story has always sat in the back of my mind waiting for the right time to be shared.

Editor’s note: I do not have an editor. I just like to write things in italics.

Back in October of 2009, my doc said to me some words that immediately frightened me and sent a shock down my spine: “Jeff, you’re getting old.” After I finished weeping, she told me she felt I should go for a colonoscopy. After she revived me with smelling salts, she told me she thought it would be important as part of my “thorough exam”.

Apparently “thorough exam” means they check every hole your body has to offer to see what’s inside. Thank goodness she forgot about one, otherwise I likely would’ve lopped the thing off and said “Here, it’s yours. Look at it all you want.”

For those of you who don’t know, a colonoscopy is where they take an instrument approximately three times wider than the diameter of your anus and attempt to shove it up your butt while telling you to relax so they can see your colon – because apparently the colon is a very exciting thing to view for some people.

After getting the appointment set up for mid-December, I wanted to know more about the procedure, so I started asking around. But it’s a little difficult to say “Hey, Frank. Yeah, how are you? How’s the wife? Oh that’s cool. The kids? Oh that’s awesome. Listen, Frank, you have had someone shove a tube up your butt before? Frank? Frank, you there? No, no, don’t get the wife, it’s not a threesome sort of thing. I meant at the doctor’s office. No, no, don’t tell your wife to put on a nurse’s uniform, you’re not understanding me…”

I ended up having two “assessments” prior to the actual procedure. The first one was a little unnerving. I was first greeted by a lovely nurse who asked me about my height and weight – why, I’m not sure. “Oh, you’re 200 lbs? Ok, so you have a big butt. And you’re 6’0”. Ok, so we’ll need a longer tube…”

After she got my measurements, I was shuttled off to a doctor who essentially asked me how I was feeling – only it took him 20 minutes-worth of questions to ask me. He filled out a form while I answered his questions. After completing the form he told me to take it to another doctor who welcomed me and asked me why I was there.

I was a little stunned by the question and silently handed him the form. He read it over, smiled, and told me I’d made the right decision. I didn’t realize I had a choice! He also seemed a little too happy that I’d chosen to go through this procedure.

He then explained how the procedure would work and if I had any questions. I did ask why I had to see a nurse, two doctors and it would be performed by yet another doctor. He stared at me blankly and wished me luck. You know when you accidentally insult your waiter and you wonder if he’ll spit in his soup? At that moment, I was very concerned the doctor would spit in my soup.

________________________________________

The night before I had the pleasure of having to clean out my system. Now let me explain to you what this meant. It meant trying to get rid of any type of food or liquid that might be lurking in, oh, I don’t know…your entire digestive system? Before they shoved a scope up my butt, they didn’t want to encounter anything coming towards them in the opposite direction. Apparently, even a low-speed collision in the lower intestinal tract would be dangerous and lord knows you can’t send in a mechanic for repairs on the probe. So I had to do a few things to wipe out any evidence of sustenance.

I had to take -- I hope you’re sitting down for this, as I had to – four Dulcolax pills up front. Give myself about 30 minutes for those to kick in and then I had to make these wonderful shake-like drinks using a system called – wait for it – Klean-Prep. Seriously. Now If you’re not sure what Klean-Prep does to your system, imagine taking one of those high-pressure power washers – you know, the kind you’d use to clean dirt off of bricks? – and shove it down your throat. And turn it on.

I’m quite sure Klean-Prep was some concoction invented by some sadist during a play session. First, it allegedly claimed to have a flavour – vanilla. Let me tell you, if this is what they call vanilla, they could have used it to torture the intimates at Guantanamo Bay and gotten Osama bin Laden about 10 years earlier than they did. Secondly, I had to drink 4 litres of the stuff over the course of 80 minutes! Four litres of any liquid is not a good thing. Hell, my car doesn’t go through 4 litres in 80 minutes.

Let’s just say I sat comfortably on the toilet seat for much of the night while about a year’s-worth of food came jettisoning out of my body at speeds that caused a sonic boom as it entered the toilet bowl. I’m pretty sure stuff came out that I hadn’t even eaten yet. I tested the capacity of the neighbourhood’s sewer system and while I can say it passed with flying colours, I think the bathroom fan gave up trying to clear the air within the first 10 minutes. Finally, 80 minutes and about 10 pounds later, I declared myself done. Unfortunately, it took my bowels about 3 more hours to reach the same conclusion.

________________________________________

Finally, the day arrived. I actually had to bust my butt to get there (pun intended) because of a bad snow storm. A friend travelled with me since there was a possibility they’d have to knock me out for the procedure. As she parked the car, I went up and got situated.

I was actually nervous, but not nervous about the procedure itself. What if there’s still stuff in me? What if my colon isn’t truly clean? I’ll be so ashamed! My family will disown me! Yes, we used to have a son named Jeff until that shameful day where the doctor found a half-eaten grape in his colon. That was the last straw!

I was ushered into the office by a beautiful nurse who explained to me who sat me down on a bed in front of a monitor where apparently I’d have my own, wonderful view of my colon. I had a choice of being given a light sedative, being knocked out, or nothing at all. If I was given nothing, I could leave right after the 15 minute procedure was over, otherwise I’d be in recovery for an hour and then I’d be let out. I opted to try it without any form of anesthesia. I figured, hey, if I can stay up and watch the Colon Channel, starring me, I should. How many times can a person say they got to see their own colon? Then again, how many people would actually care to?

While she was explaining this to me, I noticed a sudden wave of pressure forming in my bowels. I panicked. There was something left inside of me! The doctor will see this! I will be an outcast. I began forming my plans of moving to Lithuania. I meekly mentioned to the nurse that it felt like I had to go to the washroom and she calmly told me it was normal and not to worry, the unit had “powerful suction” to take care of any remaining liquid inside of me. This was likely the first and only time to think of “powerful suction” and “my butt” in the same thought and actually be excited about it.

The doctor wandered in at this point and without introduction he casually told me to take off my pants, underwear, lay on my left side and to curl up my legs and at which time, he’ll start to insert a rubber-like hose up, into my colon. Without missing a beat, I replied with: “Whoa! Flashback to my last date!” The nurse laughed. The doctor stared at me. My thoughts of him spitting into my soup came back.

To make what’s turned into an extremely long story short (too late, Jeff!) I did not need to be knocked out. I got to see my own, clean colon as the doctor gave me a tour of my insides. While I was trying to breathe through the relatively light discomfort, the doctor kept asking me questions, breaking my concentration. I seriously wanted strangle him, or in lieu of that, fart on his probe. I suddenly felt like I was in labour and he was the husband pestering me with comments like “its ok, honey. I’m sure the pain isn’t that bad.”

He declared my colon to be clean and tidy. Gave it a buff and polish while he was at it and told me I was free to go and reminded me to wait until he removed the probe first. I wasn’t concerned I’d forget.

I walked out to see my friend had just sat down after taking 15 minutes to find a parking spot. Boy, was she pissed! She told me to shove it up my butt. I told her it’d been done.

Summer Randomness

2011-06-25T14:52:00.001-04:00

Hey! You never read my last post! I can tell! You're blushing. Oh, no, wait, that's a little sunburn. You need to remember to put on lotion daily. Geez.

So where was I. Oh yes, talking to myself. In any case, it's nice summer is finally here. This year I decided to plant useful plants in the backyard. What are useful plants? These are plants that actually do something, like an apple tree or a venus fly trap. I've never understood the excitement around having plants just for the sake of having them -- at least up here in Canada.

People get all excited, spend a ton of money buying and then planting flowers in these intricate designs that can only be deciphered from passing jumbo jets at 30,000 feet. Then...they die. Winter rolls around and they're dead. The following year, they're back at it again. I figured if I'm going to plant something and work my ass at keeping the things alive, they should be willing to pay me back in the form of food.

Therefore, I planted a strawberries and tomatoes for the very first time. I must say I'm rather proud of myself simply because the plants are still alive and not angry with me. The tomato plant is growing like it's a weed to the point where I thought I had embarrassingly purchased weeds instead of a tomato plant.

The strawberry plant is producing strawberries, though not many. They seem to keep disappearing as if an animal is eating them. If that's the case, I'm sort of hoping the animal eating them is a turkey because then I can eat the turkey and have some sweet turkey meat.

You know what would be handy? A salad plant.

Where there's a will, there's five relatives and their lawyers.
I lost my voice yesterday. I swear I left it on the counter and a minute later it was gone. Maybe it's out playing in the bushes.
It's always 24/7. Why is that? You never hear someone say: "I feel this way 12/3.5"
I finally have a new lease on life! It's a 4 year lease with a decent buy-back.
When I fold my arms, I fold them into a swan.
It's important during the summer that I remain pale. My technique is to establish a base whiteness first. Then it's easier to get pale over-top that.
I would like to see a skydiver free-falling while jumping on a trampoline beneath them.
During active labour, I think it would be neat to play the theme to Jeopardy in-between contractions
I don't want to be warm and fuzzy. The last thing I saw that was warm and fuzzy was the mold on my bread.
I dry my socks by putting my socks on the blades of my ceiling fan. I keep forgetting to turn off the fan when I try to take them down.
I gave my pet bird a Twitter account. It just seemed like the right thing to do.
Screw 3 dimensions. Always go for the 4th, 5th, or 6th dimension. Better views of the city.

Pre-summer Randomness

2011-06-03T14:33:00.001-04:00

I can't believe there are two posts so close together. I must have an excess of random thoughts! Either that or I've taken a couple of muscle relaxants for my back pain and it's made me goofy -- one of the two.

I want to take a moment (but no more than that) to thank each and every one of you for your support in not only reading my blog, but sharing it with others as well! I'm almost at 4,000 views, which is awesome! Either I have quite a few followers, or there are two people that keep reading the same posts 2,000 times.

I did say I'd only spend a moment in thanking you. If you want more than thanks, like a cookie or something, then I suggest you go to the grocery store and buy yourself one -- after reading my blog.

My shovel died. I'm not sure how to bury it.
It is very appropriate that the shuttles retired in Florida. I can see it now: shuttles driving on the highway with their blinker going for 5 miles.
Why do I want to beat someone to the punch? No, no, you go get punched first. I'll wait in line for that one, thanks.
Apparently there's a postal strike. I'll have to email my friends about it. :|
The only thing up my alley is a bunch of winos and a cardboard box.
Where exactly does one buy sheep's clothing? I'm interested. Signed, the wolf.
If everyone starts taking a shortcut creating traffic jams every day, it's no longer a shortcut, is it. This is why I take the long way around -- there's no one taking that route.
I firmly believe in mutual trust....But you go first.
At a certain threshold you stop having lots of books and become a library.
Unknown to many, there were 4 standby dwarfs should any of the original 7 not work out: Eenie, Meenie, Miney, and Moe
Good way to gather the world's population of nerds: Hold a spelling bee, star trek convention and chess tournament in the same building run by a volunteer lighting and sound crew.
Dear Mr. John Edwards: You cheated on your dying wife. Jail should be the least of your concerns with regards to where you're going to be going.
Dear Mr. Bieber: Stop showing up in the newspaper. It is annoying me. Can you go live in Australia for awhile? Kthanx.
Actual ad for a weightloss support group: "Have some guts. Join us today." -- Isn't that the problem?

He Said, She Said

He says: I got wasted last night.
What he means: I slept with someone else and drinking will be my excuse.

She says: I got wasted last night.
What she means: You could've slept with me last night if you weren't too busy sleeping around.

He says: Want to go to the game with me?
What he means: I want to go to the game with my guy friends. Please say no.

She says: Want to go shopping with me?
What she means: Want to follow me and my girlfriends about 5 feet behind me and carry my bags?

May or May Not Randomness

2011-05-31T14:12:00.001-04:00

Here we are at the end of May and finally spring rolled in -- in the form of summer. It's feeling like 40C (100F) here today with another few days of heat. I like it. I'm all for it. For those of you who enjoy the cold, I only ask one thing: What drug are you on? And don't give me some b.s. about how wonderful skiing is or how pretty the trees look. Any type of weather that causes snot to freeze on my face is not a good thing, people!

...besides, cold weather means women aren't wearing bikinis. Nothing sexy about a snow suit no matter how you slice it.

Ever try throwing a single piece of macaroni like a boomerang? Does it come back when thrown? I use them to knock out fleeing potato bugs.
I've never started a stopwatch. I feel like I'm somehow going against its purpose.
Is this a rhetorical question?
It has been determined that the famous video of bigfoot was really just a large, naked Italian man out for a stroll in the woods
What do you think the Beach Boys song "Good Vibrations" was really about? Read the lyrics again.
A lot of people = a ton of people. How did we weigh them all? Does this mean few people = 1/2 a ton of people?
Given how often magicians seem to enjoy being tied up, restrained and handcuffed, you'd think they also run some sort of Fetish Club.
Mean cows also go cow-tipping.
Where is this last resort I keep hearing about? Is it in the Caribbean? What if they build one more? Then it will be the next-to-last resort.
Zookeepers keep zoos. Zookeepers must learn to share. They should be called zoosharers.
I have yet to find a goose that is silly or loose...or both. How did acting like a clown and being a whore become associated with geese in the first place?
Histrionics: The history of phonetics.
News reports are that using your cell phone can cause brain cancer. I'm not too concerned as I'll likely be run over by a truck while using my cell phone long before brain cancer sets in.
Dear Mr. Zuckerberg: You're rich. That does not make you wise. Please keep your philosophies and advice to yourself. Both me and most animals thank you.

He Said, She Said
What he says: I'll pick you up at 8.
What she thinks: We'll leave at 9.

What she says: We just hung out, watched a movie and stuff.
What she means: Five minutes into the movie, we were naked on the couch fucking. I have no idea what the movie was even about.

What he says: You know I love you.
What he means: I have said something or I am just about to say something you will hate me for.

What she says: That was amazing!
What he hears: She's putty in my hands.
What she means: I can't believe I kept a straight face when he took off his pants.

May Randomness

2011-05-18T16:00:00.001-04:00

Editor's Note: Please see the post below for a more serious update

Well it's been a rough month or so (see note above to direct you to blog below which will then bring you back here where you can then continue -- I'm just cool like that). In turn, I've taken some time off from random thoughts and thinking in general. This is my first post since the accident so be nice. Odd that my brain so easily shuts off like that. You'd think I'm a man or something...

It's odd that pain killers don't hurt given that something is being killed. It certainly sounds painful.
The way gas prices are rising, soon it'll be cheaper to just buy a new car fully gassed up and just throw out your old car.
Is it weird that call centre job interviews are done in person instead of over the phone?
Why is it that people are deathly afraid of spiders, but not octopii? You never hear anyone complaining about being scared of them. Aren't they just bigger versions of spiders living in the water? That'd creep my out way more.
If one goes off on a tangent, what were the on in the first place?
Be true to yourself. Be false to others.
I bought 2-D glasses. Now everything is skinny and flat.
Dear Mr. Trump: Shut up.
Dear Mr. Schwarzenegger: Not every body part deserves a workout. And when it does, stop using a spotter.
Dear Ms. Lohan: Please tell me this is all just "research" for a new role where you play a stupid defendant that keeps fucking up her life doing stupid things.
Dear Mr. bin Laden: I've got a package for you. Air mail. Mind if I drop in?

He said, she said

She says: We're just friends.
What he hears: I'll never fuck you.

She says publicly: We're just friends.
What he hears: No one in this group will have sex with me.

He says: Let's go out for dinner
What he's thinking: Afterwards, hopefully I'll get laid
What she's thinking: *Sigh*, he wants to get laid

She says: I'm hungry
What he's thinking: So make yourself something to eat!
What she's thinking: The bastard better take me out for dinner

She says: We need to talk
What she means: You need to listen
He says: We need to talk
What he means: I need to go out drinking tonight, and I want to bribe you with something first.

She says: Let's go for a walk
What he hears: I want to isolate you from any and all possible distractions so we can talk

She says: Let's get a dog!
What she means: I need you out of the house at least 1 hour each day so I won't go insane

Random Update -- Car accident

2011-05-18T15:59:00.002-04:00

Editor's note: This will be a serious blog post. See the post above (the more recent post) for a lighter, funnier blog post.

Second editor's note: I have an editor?!

It's been awhile since I posted an update. But this time, I have an excuse! (Normally, I don't, other than sheer laziness or someone's borrowing my brain for a week.)

On April 6th, 2011, I was in a car accident on a local highway. Essentially, an F-150 pickup truck rear-ended me (actually, rear-ended my car), and both me and the car suffered damage. In total, there was about $6700-worth of damage to the car and a moderate whiplash for me, which translated into back pain, neck pain, and some cognitive issues.

It's not well known that whiplash can cause a variety of cognitive issues such as forgetfulness, irritability, depression, confusion, malaise (wtf is malaise? sounds like some sort of cheese spread!), sleep issues, headaches, and forgetfulness. My doctor explained this to me, and ironically I found her explanation to be irritating. Unfortunately, other than sleeping issues (I already acquired some of those beforehand in anticipation), I did and continue to suffer from some of the cognitive issues bestowed upon me in the crash.

I found it somewhat ironic that within 24 hours my insurance company had taken care of my truck -- arranged for a repair shop to fix it; approved all bills with nothing out-of-pocket for me; determined I was not at fault; and arranged for a rental car.

Six weeks after the accident I received a notice in the mail that coverage for my whiplash and physical issues have been approved. :| Well geez, thanks for the timely response there. At least I have my car back to drive to the doctor!

Describing what's happened to me physically is easy: lower back pain, upper back and shoulder pain, neck stiffness and range-of-motion issues. Describing what's happened to me mentally is more difficult. When I'm in a very stressful situation (i.e. flying -- see my blog posts about it as they're quite amusing), I raise up this inner wall inside my head. On the outside of this wall, I'm functioning and doing whatever I need to do, but without the emotions or stress because nothing reaches the other side of the wall. On the inside, my inner-voice and thoughts continue uninhibited or disturbed by the outside stress. Once the stress is over, the wall goes down and I'm fine as nothing got in or out.

After the car accident, that wall went up -- without me controlling it. Imagine this wall being up where things aren't getting in (i.e. new things that I cannot remember later), nor are things getting out (trying to remember something from the previous day...or random thoughts for my blog). It was a very frustrating time as sometimes this wall would lower itself a bit or shoot up and block things entirely. I was aware the wall was there. I was aware that I was forgetting things I should know or remember. I was aware that I was confused about something I had no business in being confused, yet there was nothing I could do about it.

After 6 weeks, I'm mostly better now. There's still some back pain, and I'm still easily confused (though that was the case before the accident anyways), but for the most part, my wall is back down, though I cannot claim to have control over it yet. This is good news as I'm happier, nicer, not depressed, and it means I can write lengthy, serious blog posts that are somewhat boring to read.

But this is also an opportunity to thank my friends and family for their support over the past 6 weeks. I've been a "challenge" to them, to put things diplomatically, and they've put up with me, supported me, encouraged me, and occasionally told me to fuck off -- all of which is much appreciated.

So a thank you to all those who helped. You know who you are. Raise your hand if you think it was you. Yup, that's about right, though not you, sir. Who the hell are you?

I think it's time to return to some random thoughts...in my next post.

P.S. Yes, I know on the third paragraph I put 'forgetfulness' twice. It was meant as a joke, so please do not call my neurologist.

March Madness: The Ides of March...plus 13 more days

2011-03-29T17:29:00.000-04:00

Hmmmm, something's different here. Well let's see here: I got a hair cut...no, that's not it. I ate sushi...no that's not it. Oh! I know! I changed the look and feel of my blog (mmmm....feeeeeeel). I hope you like it and if not, well, I suppose that means you won't like it. If you do like it, then I'm very proud of you for liking anything that I do.

And to anticipate the question: "Did you take that picture?!" The answer is yes -- to the one at the top. No -- to the background. I know I'm "out there", but I've never left planet Earth. Well, there was that one time someone slipped something into my drink, but we'll save that for another time.

Also, notice the new "Sharing" icons after each article as well as the top-right. Now we all learned in kindergarten it's important to share and I want to encourage those feelings. Share my thoughts with your friends on Facebook or tweet them. Every time you share, I'll give you a cookie...or...a thank you. Depends on if you're local or not.

Regardless, enough rambling and time for some random thoughts...

The only thing magical about magic markers is they tend to disappear a lot.
I'm only interested in pretending to buy a house so I have a fake estate agent
There is no such thing as disposable income. Have you ever found money in the garbage?
I'd like to be a massage thief: I go to massage parlours and steal other people's massages. "Yeah, I steal for a living, but you know what? It's kind of relaxing."
A little known fact is during a church service, a Bishop can only move diagonally
Why are we "rehabbing" animals from zoos and wildlife sanctuaries and sending them back to the wild? In a zoo they get guaranteed meals each day; treatment for all ailments; applause just for licking themselves; getting to eat drunken people who climb into their enclosures; and absolutely no predators. Yup, I can just see them lining up to get out.
Jesus had a great agent.
Whenever I see someone cooly take a drag of a cigarette and then blow out smoke rings I think to myself: "Ooooo, you know how to inhale and exhale concentrated pollution. I wish I could do that."
I'm surprised I don't hear more stories about referees being humped by zebras.
Darth Vader should appear in porn movies. He's already got the breathing part downpat.
I bought a baby monitor to listen to incident that babies are responding to. So far there haven't been many.

A conversation between the US President and Russian Premier -- in the year 2030

2011-03-17T15:13:00.004-04:00

It's the year 2030. The YouTube and Facebook generation has gotten older and a new US President and a new Russian Premier have just been elected. Imagine how they might interact. They decide to introduce themselves...by email.

To: Russianpremier@russia.com
Subject: Hey

Hey, it's Colton, the new prez. Howz it going, dude? Congrats on the new gig. Do you get a big house or anything like I got here? I don't know much about Russia really, but I heard they have vodka and stuff. Did you ever get drunk off the stuff? Like *really* drunk? I bet there's some facebook pics of you that you wish weren't tagged, lol.

Colton, The Prez.

To: USPres@US.com
Subject: Re: Hey

Dear Colton.
It's Dirk Spasky here. Thanks for the quick email. I just moved in, so I'm not sure how big the place is yet, hehehehe. Your White House is a bit dirty. They should call it the Grey House now. :P Hey, it's easier to chat. My nickname is DaPremier42. Add me.

To: Russianpremier@russia.com
Subject: Re: Re: Hey

Sure! I'll meet you on chat in a minute. What time is it there, anyways. It's 1130pm here. It must be really late there! The time zone difference is, what, 4 hours or something? My nick is HotPrez69. Ttys!

...a few minutes later...

HotPrez69: Yo! I'm on, are you?
DaPremier42: Hey! 'Sup!
HotPrez69: So, I guess we should get serious and go over some stuff. :| See? I'm serious now. :|
DaPremier42: Lol, well if you're going to ask me to leave Lithuania alone, I'm not going to. :P
HotPrez69: You really should, otherwise we'll get angry and I won't be your friend on Facebook anymore. :(
DaPremier42: ROFL!!
HotPrez69: What? It's true. :P
DaPremier42: Yah, yah, and what are you going to do about leaving Cuba alone. Castro is actually still alive. ;)
HotPrez69: Haha. A sarcastic premier. Cute. Hey, look at this!
*Sends Image*
DaPremier42: What is that? Is that your bathroom? You've got like 10 nozzles in your shower -- too cool.
HotPrez69: Hey, can I send you this vid I'm going to post on YouTube? It's me doing a cover of Justin Bieber -- I can't believe he just released his 10th album!
DaPremier42: Sure, but can you get me tickets to his concert??????
HotPrez69: LOL. Sure, if you like my video. :P Hey, brb, the wife wants something.
DaPremier42: kk
HotPrez69: Back
DaPremier42: WB. Hey, you have a cam? We can Skype if you do.
HotPrez69: Thx. Nah, the wife won't let me have a cam. I got drunk once and, well...Aw, FML, the wife wants the computer!
DaPremier42: You don't have more than one?! You're the president?!
HotPrez69: We do, but the router isn't set up yet, so I'm stealing wi-fi from next door.
DaPremier42: Lol, ok. Ttyt?
HotPrez69: Yah, we have to get this Lithuania thing done. Ok, g2g, ttyl.

Birthday Randomness

2011-03-11T16:58:00.000-05:00

This Sunday it's my birthday. Therefore this weekend will be my birthday weekend full of parties, well-wishers, drunken well-wishers, presents, and a myriad of other events to make my life miserable.

Miserable? Yes, miserable (I like answering my own questions -- I always get them right). I'm turning 40 and that's part of the reason why. I suppose turning 40 isn't all that bad (shush you, in the back who's laughing!), but I still recall my father's 40th birthday party. I remember it well and I remember all the "you're getting old" birthday cards and jokes. It left an impression on me that 40 = old. My father called the other day: "So you're turning 40, eh? Man, that's old!" That didn't help.

I used to be a shy person, but no longer. Usually. I tend to think of myself as an outgoing person, but I get really shy around my birthday. How come? (Hmmm, hopefully I know the answer to this one.) I love being in the spotlight. Dammit, I'm quirky enough that people tend to stare anyways. Oh wait, no, they're staring at my nose.

I like to be in the spotlight upon my own doing. Hey, look at me, I'm blogging! Hey look at me, I'm dancing! Hey look at me, I'm drunk and stumbling onto the street in front of that cop on horseback that now wants to question me for....Ok, wait nevermind that last one.

But a birthday is different. I have no control there. There's no not being in the mood. Jeff, it's your birthday! *Spotlight on me as I'm sitting on the toilet, reading the newspaper*. Uh, oh, hi everyone. I guess it's my birthday and oh, here's cake. Can I get off the toilet first? That'd be great, thanks.

On to some further thoughts...

You know you're getting older when there are only two candles on your cake -- one representing each number.
The Thesaurus was a dinosaur from the Jurassic period that wore glasses and was picked on by other dinosaurs for being a nerd.
Slogan for a sex show: "The Sex Show: You Should Cum"
I find it weird that most animals have sex doggie-style. Why isn't it called Animal-Style? Did dogs truly invent this approach? Do other animals have to pay dogs a royalty each time they have sex?
Never accept an elephant's offer of a blowjob.
Mutual funds tend to become friends with other mutual funds through mutual mutual fund friends.
My bathroom is ultra-Italian in design. My towel rack runs vertically. Shower head? On the floor of the stall.
Potato chips can never rest. For them, it's always crunch time.
Screw the tallest building in the world. I want to build the lowest building in the world. That's way more of a challenge.
I hate those toilets that have the automatic flush sensors instead of a handle. You walk into the stall *flush*. Start to get seated *flush*. Adjust how you're sitting *flush*. And finally you stand back up *flush*. In the meantime, everyone outside of the stall is thinking "Damn! How much shit has that guy got in him?!"

Return to the Sleep Clinic

2011-03-06T17:00:00.000-05:00

I would've called this The Sleep Clinic, Part Deux, but that would've been a reference to the movie Hot Shots with Charlie Sheen and that would've meant another Charlie Sheen joke. And no one wants that right now. He's doing a great job on his own.

Where was I? Oh yes, the sleep clinic. (Side note: Don't you love it how some people can talk and type their thoughts as they happen? Cool, eh? If I could only talk in parenthesis as I am now.) I returned to the sleep clinic last night to confirm whether or not my CPAP machine and mask had done the trick.

For those of you who aren't a part of my cult, last month I was diagnosed with sleep apnea and I began to use a machine and mask that essentially pumped air down my nose and throat to help keep my airway from collapsing. It's not as dramatic as I just described it, but it can lead to things like heart disease, weight gain, and using parenthesis in blogs.

So I returned to L'Hotel du Snoring (aka The Sleep Clinic) to once again lounge for a few hours in a cozy bedroom with a tv and free wi-fi and then again get wired up to sleep. I have to tell you something: for a place that offers wi-fi, you'd think they'd get a sleep machine that doesn't require wires! Can't they just attach some electrodes that connect to some main computer wirelessly instead of me feeling like a damn puppet? As you can see, I wouldn't make a good submissive...

My technician, Vlad (let the 'Vlad the Impaler' jokes start), indicated that he'd get me 'hooked up' by midnight. I started to like the sound of this Vlad dude, until he explained he meant the machine. I didn't like Vlad anymore.

He also pointed out where the camera was as well as the speaker and microphone and told me he would not turn either on until the sleep study commenced. I thanked him and once he left, I laid down on the bed, turned on the tv, got the computer going, and I promptly adjusted myself...a few times.

Around 11pm, he returned to 'hook me up' *grumbles* and while getting all the wires set up, the dude in the room next to me bellows out "Hello! Hello? Hello!" He was speaking loudly for the microphone to pick him up but the technician who'd normally answer him was...Vlad. So Vlad dropped everything and ran to his room. He was gone for a good 10 minutes or so. I was picturing the man being helpless, somehow tangled up on the lampshade, dangling from one foot. When Vlad came back, he never explained what happened, but 10 minutes later, the guy started bellowing again. Ten minutes after that -- again.

When Vlad returned the third time, I asked him to do me a favour. Could he just go into the lab and just shock the guy to death. This guy was going to keep me up all night with "Hello! Hello? Hello!" over and over. And would someone get the lampshade out of his room before he hurts himself?

As he was attaching each wire and electrode he seemed to be using some sort of silly putty or glue. The amount he was using per electrode was ridiculous. There were these little Mount Everests sprouting out all over my body. I looked like I had some sort of odd disease. I got the impression he derived some sort of pleasure by putting so much of the stuff on me. I wasn't sure if he was going to measure my electrical activity or sculpt.

Finally, I was wired up and I declared I had to pee. I suddenly felt like a 2-year old. I was grinning from ear to ear waiting for him to decide whether to slap me or spank me (hey, you have to be into something if you're going to spend your nights attaching wires to people), but he smiled back and told me to go pee.

So I did. With wires trailing behind me, dangling in front of me, and tangled at my side, I attempted to pee. I was rather proud of myself managing to hold onto the wires, the box the wires were connected to and peed without missing the toilet or getting the wires wet...much. I swear to you, even the acrobats from Cirque du Soleil were applauding.

After peeing, I glanced into the mirror and decided to take a picture. Why? Because I'm stupid and take stupid pictures of myself.

As you can see, I'm wearing a stylin' shirt with two belts that sit a wee bit above the waist. Well, no one said I was one for fashion. I'm not wearing my mask in this picture, but if you look closely at the previous picture (click on it to see a larger version), you'll see the mask and hose that I wore in addition to the lovely wiring set up you see. Side note: I was able to pick up CBC in my head. I probably could've picked up the Buffalo stations but the weather was bad.

I headed to the bed and laid down and the Vlad told me to sleep naturally. "Oh," he said. "Do you sleep on your side? Hmmm, sleep on your back so we can properly test the machine." Wonderful. I'll just naturally pretend to sleep on my side.

He shut off the lights and told me he'd be back at 6am to wake me up from my natural sleep. He announced the video camera and microphone would be turned on and to have a good night. I stopped adjusting myself.

Ten minutes later: "Hello! Hello? Hello!"

The end.

My Report Card....from 1974-75

2011-03-06T16:36:00.001-05:00

My mother came across my report card from 1974-75 and happily gave it to me. I'm happily sharing it, probably because I'm an idiot and enjoy being made fun of.

But I do have to tell you, if you need your silver polished, I'm your guy!

Click on it to see it a little easier.

March madness

2011-03-03T14:53:00.000-05:00

Not only do I offer randomness, I offer some madness as well. It IS March afterall. What shall I talk about that might have to do with madness. Hmmmm...*turns on the tv* -- nope, nothing new or exciting on there...

Everytime I see a tub whipped butter I want to tell it not to give up
Charlie, I told you: Shhhhhh! You had to talk, didn't you. "I'm on a drug. It's called Charlie Sheen." No, no you're not, Charlie. Try again.
And now Charlie Sheen wants to sue CBS for 'mental anguish'. That's like Hannibal Lecter suing his victims for indigestion.
Reports are Charlie Sheen's twitter account set the Guinness World Record for fastest time to gather 1 million followers. To celebrate, Charlie promptly drank the Guinness.
Me visiting a psychic:

*I sit down*
Psychic: *stares*
Me: What?
Psychic: *stares*
Me: What?!
Psychic: You're gonna die within the week. I'll charge you half-price for this session

Rather than hearing music when you're on-hold, I think you should hear a recording of someone typing on their computer talking to their colleagues about how they don't want to take the next call.
Can someone have a fever in a hot place, like Florida? How can you tell? "Hey, I think I have a temp of 102. Then again, it's 105 outside."
If you get half-baked you can fry your brain.
True story. A recent dream I had: Diane Wiest was dressing me up in a ball gown to help 'soften my shoulders' before appearing on a newscast with Colin Mochrie.
My plan is coming together, just as I planned.
My comb's teeth need to be flossed
Where there's smoke...there's me cooking.
Heya is for horsesa

February Randomness -- the shortest randomness of the year

2011-02-25T16:50:00.001-05:00

Well February will be wrapping up in a few days. I love Feburary because it's March that comes right after it. March means: warmer weather, my birthday, and St. Patty's Day. All have one thing in common: more drinking. 'Nuff said.

I'm forming a cult, but only of pregnant women. I suspect the cult won't last too long -- 9 months tops.
I set my cellphone to vibrate and asked my friends to send me messages using Morse code.
Who decided to make this Captain Crunch guy a captain? Exactly what army is he in?
I get the impression poutine was invented by some guy who barfed after eating fries and washing it down with milk.
Rather than a countdown before launching the shuttle, it should be like at amusement park rides: There should be one dude standing by the shuttle door giving a thumbs up to some guy down below who has a big, red button that he pushes. And as the shuttle launches, they should blast some annoying rock and roll for 3 minutes. Side note: They'd always have to get a new guy to give the thumbs up for each launch.
Speaking of the shuttle, during the countdown, they hold the countdown at 9 minutes for 1 hour...and countdown until they start the countdown again. Seriously.
My perspective on life requires 3-D glasses.
The camera adds 10 lbs, and subtracts 2 inches -- at least that's what I keep telling myself.
Only people with narcolepsy can truly say they fall asleep
True story: Russia has announced they will no longer consider beer to be a food. I believe the only places left that do consider it a food are Northern Ontario and Rush Limbaugh.
I'd like less drama in my life. I'll take more comedy with a touch of action/adventure and horror.
Charlie: Shhhhhhhh! You speak again and you're getting a time-out and no pornstars for 1 year. Get some help before you end up on an episode of Cops playing yourself.
Don't you hate it when you close your car door and it closes halfway in that semi-closed position, especially if you locked the door before closing it? Then you have the choice between having to unlock, open, relock and close the door or do that body-slam into the door. I prefer the body slam method, which is one of the most violent things you can do to your car. Then you have to calculate your height and weight before ramming into the car door -- you wouldn't want to seperate your shoulder or break the car window. That'd be embarrassing to have happen...again.

...and in the news...ANIMALS!

2011-01-21T16:23:00.002-05:00

These are real headlines taken today from the Toronto Star and CNN. Seriously. For real.

Angelfish can count to three: study Apparently scientists have run out of things to study. So does this mean dumb angelfish can only count to 1 and smart angelfish might be able to count as high as 5? Look, I know scientists like to sometimes puff on the weed from time to time, but that doesn't mean you actually have to follow up on those crazy thoughts of yours.

Sharks may be colour-blind: Study Well geez! Since I hired a great white to be my interior decorator, I guess I'll have to go fire him now! Who cares they can't tell their greens from their blues? "I was about to be attacked by this massive hammerhead, but then he saw I was wearing this beautiful shade of turquoise and he just stopped to admire it."

Cellphone rings in croc's stomach I'd be more interested if someone actually answered the cellphone. That'd be kinda creepy and cool at the same time.

Playboy app coming to the iPad This one's actually making news and I'm not sure why. The iPad could already display pictures. If it can display pictures, every man who owns one has at least one picture of a naked woman on it. If you could get a Playboy app to plug into my brain -- now that'd be fun!

Are fish popping Prozac present in the water? The simple answer is: yes. Have you not noticed how happy fish seem to be these days? Even when they're caught, they're just happy, giggly, laughing little dudes as they flop around in the bucket. They have to be careful of overdosing, though. I hope they use angelfish to count the pills.

Breakfast-sandwich ad turns bus shelter into toaster oven And every 2 minutes, any pedestrian standing inside the shelter was abruptly popped out into the street and promptly run over by the Route 99 Express bus.

Ivanka Trump: I'm pregnant! That's exciting news! I'm sure, when it's time, she'll drive in the Trumpmobile to Trump Hospital to give birth in the Trump Wing.

Will the Earth Have Two Suns by 2012? If it does, I don't want to hear any more complaints about wearing dark clothing at night. Study: Angelfish will be able to count the number of suns.

Visiting the sleep clinic

2011-01-14T11:53:00.002-05:00

I'm going to share a witty story with you regarding my sleep study from last weekend, but before I do, just a brief rant....

Listen, when someone opens a door for you, the polite thing to do is to say "thank you". I think that's common courtesy and especially if you happen to notice the person (me!) has their hands full with a drink, a snack and car keys, perhaps eye contact and/or a smile would be nice too.

No, I'm not your doorman. No, I didn't have to hold the door open for you just because I'm standing there. It's the polite thing to do, so I figured I'd do so since that's what polite people do. Polite people also respond to the door being opened for them.

If you'd prefer not to say thank you, or smile, or acknowledge my presence, then please ensure you identify yourself to ensure in the future the door won't be held open for you. I believe perhaps wearing a badge or sign would do the trick. I'd suggest something simple on the badge, such as: "I am rude. And my mother is a whore." That should take care of it.

Please. Thank you.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Last Saturday, at 8pm, I drove off to visit a doctor. Why at 8pm? Because I was heading out to an office to conduct a sleep study. I haven't been sleeping well the past few months and I've been concerned that my snoring has progressed to experiencing bouts of sleep apnea. My doctor agreed, so off I went.

I had no idea what to expect at a sleep study. I was told to be there around 9pm and I envisioned walking in the door and a technician strapping on a bunch of wires to me and telling me at 9:05 to get some rest and shut off the light while I stare at the wall blankly for the next few hours until I passed out from boredom.

In fact, I was pleasantly surprised. After arriving quite early at 8:30pm, I was shown to my room, which consisted of a queen-sized bed, an en suite bathroom (elegant shower, sink, and toilet), and a tv. The technician asked me when I normally went to bed. I tentatively said midnight, fully expecting him to grin evilly and say "Well, you're my bitch now and you go to bed when I tell you to!" Ok, yes, I'm a little over-dramatic, but hey, it suits me well.

In reality, he told me he'd be back at about 11:30 because, "it takes 30-40 minutes to get you hooked up with the wires." I laughed meekly and he walked out of the room. I glanced over to the wall and there they were: wires, electrodes, in various shapes and sizes. There were pastes, tape, and I thought I caught staples and a scalpel, but hey, I might've been wrong. I didn't know whether to get scared or get turned on. If I was into being tied up, I'd probably have rushed out and asked the technician to hang out in my room to get to know me better first. Ask if he has tattoos.

Then, I settled in. I found myself laying back, watching TV (the football game) while typing away at my netbook. "Hey," I thought. "This isn't so bad at all. I can do this." I adjusted myself and then noticed the camera in the corner pointed right at the bed. I stopped adjusting myself.

Finally, 11:30 rolled around. With a slight knock on the door, the technician let himself in -- what if I was masturbating?! oh yeah, the camera -- and he asked me to sit at the edge of the bed. I felt the gooey glue get applied to my scalp -- let the games begin!

He was right, it took 30 minutes to get everything set up. At this point, I was laying on my back on the bed. with wires splaying from my body in all directions. Here's how I was wired and set up:

6 electrodes glued to my scalp (aka my hair)
2 electrodes glued to my temples
2 electrodes glued behind my ears
2 electrodes glued to my shoulders
3 electrodes attached to each leg
2 abdomen belts that were tightly wrapped around my chest and stomach
1 finger clip attached to my index finger to measure my oxygen
1 contraption attached to my upper lip using tubing that wrapped around my ears and tightened underneath my chin. The tubes themselves were taped to my cheeks.

I thought I should joke with the technician and say, "Doctor! I smelled burnt toast!" but I figured it'd be lost on him, so I lay there silently.

He then wanted to test that all the connections were operating correctly, so he went to the next room and asked me to do a series of moves while he looked through the video camera and his computer monitor: blink my eyes, open my mouth, hold my breath, etc. I didn't quite understand why he wanted me to caress my breasts while singing Oops I did it again, but I'm sure there was a pretty good medical reason.

This is also the time where I realized not only could he see me on the camera, but the room also had a built-in microphone and speaker system. I frantically thought back to the phone calls I made earlier in the evening while in the room. Did I call the technician a nerd? I can't remember how loud that fart was, either. Hmmmm....

At this point, over the speaker system, he had the nerve to tell me "Ok, you can go to sleep now. Try to sleep naturally." Naturally? I've got, by my count, about 40 wires jutting out of my body going off in all different direction. I feel like I'm trapped in a Tim Burton-made bondage movie, and you want me to sleep naturally? I think not!

He then told me that if I needed to go to the washroom at any point, I just had to talk out loud and he'd come and unplug me. He then shut the lights. I debated for awhile whether I should get out of bed and just do some standup for the guy. I was on camera, afterall. "Two jews walk into a bar..." "Take my wife, please!" Hey, if I've got an audience, I've got to do something, you know. I decided to fart instead.

I tried to roll onto my side to sleep. It took me a total of 5 minutes to get there. Between having to re-arrange the wires; getting tangled up in myself; and discovering that the centre of the bed had a depression the size of the Grand Canyon, I was utterly exhausted. No wonder people can't sleep with all that equipment on them! It takes a technical engineering schematic to move in any direction on the bed! It's exhausting!

To say I slept well is like saying the economy is doing well. I didn't and it isn't. I'm not sure how they possibly measure anything that makes any sense! "Well, Jeff, we figured out why you're tired all the time. According to our charts, you don't sleep at night." Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Imagine that. I don't sleep when half the power grid is wired into my skull. I have no idea why that is.

As you can see, I'm still a little jaded by the experience. My apologies. I'm probably just tired.

Holiday Randomness and Holiday news

2011-01-04T00:58:00.000-05:00

Happy 2011! Do you say Happy New Year or Happy New Years? I have no idea, so I'll wish everyone both. It's been a busy holiday season, or Christmas season for all you folks that have finally broken out of the "I must be politically correct" mode.

A few new thoughts and comments about the news to start off the new year(s) properly...

The first 15 minutes of a ballet should be a sneak preview of upcoming ballets.
Get this: Chernobyl is opening the doors to tourists. Who's going to go there? Who exactly is thinking: "Well gosh, we could go to Disney again this year, but been there, done that. Let's irradiate ourselves instead!"
I was using my snowblower a few weeks ago and the damn thing only blew the snow like 2 feet in front of me. That's when I realized the further the snow gets thrown, the more of a man I feel like. "Yeah! See that! That's me! I threw those 2 tons of snow 50 FEET away! Grrrrr!" Instead, plop! 2 feet in front of me. Felt like I had some sort of erectile dysfunction. My snowblower went flaccid on me.
So the Canadian government is thinking of ending production of the penny. The reasoning is no one seems to be using the penny anymore. Penny for your thoughts. Don't have that either, eh? Thought so.
Mark Zuckerberg -- founder of Facebook -- was voted as Time's Man of the Year. Dislike.
I have exit-stage-left fright
I'm afraid of those smart phones and iphones with touchpads. I can never get them right. Do I want to scroll or touch? Well don't I have to touch the thing to scroll? How does it know if I'm touching it to scroll or touching it to touch? It just confuses and intimidates me. And it sounds dirty.
A retard is someone who's been tarded before.
The nice thing about winter: give it a day and your dog's shit will freeze on your lawn -- way easier to clean up that way.
My homemade cookies are made in someone else's home. They're way better.
A small town in Alabama, a reported 5,000 birds literally dropped out of the sky dead on new years eve. As a response, the town has reportedly cancelled next years New Years Eve All You Can Eat Baked Beans and Onions Town Festival.

Jeff's Random Thoughts

Is there a doctor in the house?

What I Should Have Known

Halfway

**The beginning**

**Halfway**

The Countdown

Halfway past halfway

Counting up

The end of the countdown

My First Facial Massage

What Happens in Vegas...Gets Blogged

Don't go breakin' my heart

You're getting verrrrrry sleeeeeepy

How to answer your phone and other ways to go insane

Some Like It Hot

My Butt

Summer Randomness

Pre-summer Randomness

May or May Not Randomness

May Randomness

Random Update -- Car accident

March Madness: The Ides of March...plus 13 more days

A conversation between the US President and Russian Premier -- in the year 2030

Birthday Randomness

Return to the Sleep Clinic

My Report Card....from 1974-75

March madness

February Randomness -- the shortest randomness of the year

...and in the news...ANIMALS!

Visiting the sleep clinic

Holiday Randomness and Holiday news

The beginning

Halfway