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All complaints ass-ide about the bedside manner of our colonoscopy photographer next week, we're starting to get down to the business of preparing for it. Emily made it home this afternoon, and she'll be providing the transportation for each of us on Monday and Thursday next. Our fasting and, urrr, Drinking That Stuff days will be this Sunday (for Eleanor) and next Wednesday (for me), so arrangements are being made for us to be out of commission at those times, as well. Then, I noticed, we are commanded to be off all aspirin-family products, including ibuprofin (Advil in these parts), for a full week ahead of the procedure. Between workouts and bad nights' sleep, I've been taking those little buggers fairly regularly of late, so this will come as a bit (butt?) of an adjustment.
Don't worry. The anal humor will be getting even worse as the day approaches.
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Em came home with pressie for me!
My team could use something cute like that right about now. The Bernie Madoff scandal is tearing into the owners' finances something fierce, with the group getting sued for a billion dollars- that's a B, folks, or a thousand million to You UKers- for ill-gotten gains from the Ponzi scheme. Even the Buffalo Bisons' new manager, and 1986 Met hero Tim Teufel, is getting nicked for a mill or two on account of his team-encouraged "investments" with the Made Man. This has led to totally cheery headlines in the New York City tabloids like this:
Since the bankruptcy trustee in charge of this meshugenah case is named Irving Picard, I have two basic parody choices here: a Star Trek TNG visit to the Planet Citifield 09, or, easier, an update of the 60s classic The Ballad of Irving. Polls, and possibly Poles, are now open.
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Elsewhere in the world of seemingly victimless crime, I spent a good chunk of today trying to hack open Eleanor's old combination lock.
I'd done it before, using this handy dandy mathematical guide, and we even had the winning numbers up on the fridge for years, before we forgot them and the cheat sheet got lost. All we can remember is that the 3 digits are pretty Kate Mossy in their smallness. Oh well, we much prefer Kate Moosey now that she's back home:) I've given up for tonight, but there are still something like 20 combinations to keep trying, and it's a bit hard on the hands. Plus, you know, no Advil after tomorrow. Dammit.
Don't worry. The anal humor will be getting even worse as the day approaches.
----
Em came home with pressie for me!
My team could use something cute like that right about now. The Bernie Madoff scandal is tearing into the owners' finances something fierce, with the group getting sued for a billion dollars- that's a B, folks, or a thousand million to You UKers- for ill-gotten gains from the Ponzi scheme. Even the Buffalo Bisons' new manager, and 1986 Met hero Tim Teufel, is getting nicked for a mill or two on account of his team-encouraged "investments" with the Made Man. This has led to totally cheery headlines in the New York City tabloids like this:
Since the bankruptcy trustee in charge of this meshugenah case is named Irving Picard, I have two basic parody choices here: a Star Trek TNG visit to the Planet Citifield 09, or, easier, an update of the 60s classic The Ballad of Irving. Polls, and possibly Poles, are now open.
----
Elsewhere in the world of seemingly victimless crime, I spent a good chunk of today trying to hack open Eleanor's old combination lock.
I'd done it before, using this handy dandy mathematical guide, and we even had the winning numbers up on the fridge for years, before we forgot them and the cheat sheet got lost. All we can remember is that the 3 digits are pretty Kate Mossy in their smallness. Oh well, we much prefer Kate Moosey now that she's back home:) I've given up for tonight, but there are still something like 20 combinations to keep trying, and it's a bit hard on the hands. Plus, you know, no Advil after tomorrow. Dammit.