5 for Friday! I already knew this...I didn't need any reminders!

Good morning!

Sometimes, just about the time you think you know all the life lessons you're going to need to know, life decides you need a refresher course in the basics of human ridiculousness.  Such was the case recently when I went to the doctor's office to have my itchy ears looked at.  (For those of you not in the know, the inside of my ears have itched for about 3 years now.  Also, my left ear has been clogged in and ringing since March. There. You're caught up.)  Anyway, everything below happened on one day, all within roughly a 60 minute period of time.

5)  Not everyone is funny.

The key to humor is timing, everyone knows this. I'm also going to say that PLACE is a pretty big deal.  For example, a joke about J.S. Bach being the rock star of the Lutheran church is HILARIOUS in a church basement full of Lutherans.  It's way less funny at literally any other live music venue.

Which brings me to the COVID screener at the clinic where most of my doctors are located.

Sigh.

First of all, my clinic has two sides: the regular medical side and the cancer side.  (I go to both, not because I have cancer, but because I see the hematologist for my iron issues.)  The screeners on the cancer side are always very nice, very helpful, and appropriately chatty.

And then there's the guy on the regular medical side.

I'm not sure where they got this guy, but Clint Eastwood's character from "Gran Torino" wouldn't be far off.    Total super grumpy old guy.

Generally he just barks at you to lift your bangs so he can take your temp. Then he sticks your dated sticker on your boob (nope, he doesn't need you to do it, he's got it0 and then he points and grunts at the check in kiosks.  Super helpful and customer servicy.  

But on the day in question, he must have decided to be a little more people friendly. I was holding a manila envelop (we'll get to that in a minute) and he said, "Lift your bangs.  Whatcha got there?"

I said, "I'm dropping off a package for my doctor."

"Oh," he says, "I didn't realize they were BUYING drugs in here now."

4)  ALWAYS ask the fluffy girl.  She knows.

The manila envelop in question was my forms for my health insurance that my idiot general practice doc (more on him in a minute) needs to fill out so I can same some buckage on my insurance rates.  Last year my IGP (Idiot General Practictioner) FORGOT to send in the forms. So this year I was getting them done a head of the deadline AND I was going to pick them up and send them myself.  Which is what I wrote in big, black letters on the envelop.

I approached the desk and since the fluffy girl seemed be on the phone, I went to the not fluffy girl.  "Two questions," says I.  "First, is this the check in desk for Dr. XXX?" (I was seeing a new guy, for my ears.)

"No," says the not so fluffy girl, "His office is directly above this desk."

"Great," says I.  "Second question, can you please get this to Dr. IGP?  The instructions are on the envelop and his nurse will know what it's for."

NSF (Not So Fluffy)  took the envelop and then looked at me with fear, genuine fear, in her eyes.  "ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..."

Now, come on.  It's not like NSF was young. She was definitely in my age class or above. It's not like she'd never been handed an envelop before!

Meanwhile, Fluffy was off the phone and looked over her shoulder, "Oh wow, you are early with that!" she cheered.

"You know what this is?"  NSF held the envelop with the very tips of her fingers, as if it contained some kind of weaponized chemical or something.

"Yes, it's for her insurance company."  Fluffy responded.

"What do I do with it?"  NSF is still holding the thing like  it's toxic.

Clearly Fluffy was having a long day with NSF.  "Give it to me," she said in that exhausted voice we fluffy girls know too well. It's the voice we have when we've spent a long time being the smartest person in the room and get zero credit for it because everyone thinks if you're fluffy you're stupid.  (I worked for a guy who told me every day that I'd be more intelligent if I lost 50 pounds.)

Anyway, the envelop was in Fluffy's hands and she was going to get the job done.  Confident, I moved on to the next thing.

OF COURSE NOT!

3) My General Practitioner is kind of an idiot.

You know how you get those punch cards for free meals at crappy sandwich places and when you get all the dots punched you get a free crappy sandwich?  And it's not like you WANT more sandwiches from the place because they are crappy...but it's free, so you know, why not?

Yeah, well, that's kind of the reason I keep going to my Idiot General Practitioner.  (IGP)  He's not a good doctor. I've been seeing him for more than 15 years now.  He's about 90% useless and I really only see him for my annual physical and bloodwork.   Then I see specialists for literally everything else.

Case in point, this ear problem:  I've been telling IGP that my ears have itched for a long time now.  And he looks in my ears and says, "They're clean, you're fine."  

Well, in May I was sick to death of my left ear ringing and being plugged, plus it also hurt like crazy.  So I got in to see him because, you know, that's what you do when you think you have an ear infection.

He looked in my left ear and said, and I quote, "I can't tell if the ear's infected. The ear drum looks like something smeared peanut butter on it and then threw sprinkles on it."

Okay...

Now, and I'm just spitballing here, a good doctor might, oh I don't know, CLEAN THE EAR and take another look. Not this guy. Nope, instead, he looked at my right ear, which he deemed, "VERY WAXY" (and didn't clean it) and he prescribed antibiotics and some super expensive ear drops.

Infection dealt with. But the left was still clogged and ringing and both ears still itched.  

This is the same guy who lost my insurance forms and I wound up not saving any money on insurance premiums last year.    Why do I keep going to him?  

Well, it's like that free sandwich. I mean, I never have to wait to get in to see him.  I call and I can get in the same day.  Plus, his blood pressure machine gives me the lowest numbers of any in the building.  I'm stupid to give that up, right?

2) The grossness of your medical issue is directly related to the hotness of the medical professional. 

Ladies, we know this is true.  And it gets more true the older we get.  If something gross is coming out of you, or if your medical complaint is particularly icky, the medical person in charge is going to be wildly, and I mean "Grey's Anatomy" attractive.  (You know, back when Grey's still had attractive people on it...sigh.) 

Back when I was young and a little eyeliner was all I needed to look good, my doctors weren't all that good looking, at least, not that I noticed. But once I had kids (the ultimate in gooey weird stuff coming out of you...not the babies, the other stuff they never tell you about until it's too late) I started noticing this phenomenon.  

My GYN:  used to be an old guy, and before that a little Jewish guy who was adorable but not super hot.  Now?  REALLY beautiful woman.  

Remember my Frankenboot era? My physical therapist was HOT!  

The guy who dealt with my sinus infection...I don't remember his name, but when I called to make a follow up appointment all I said was, "He was good looking," and the nurse knew EXACTLY which doctor I was talking about.

My car accident in 2012 when I went to urgent care covered in Slimfast?  HOT DOCTOR.

Which brings me to my ears on the day in question.  In walks this...guy.  his picture online looked NOTHING like the tall, dark, and yummy standing in front of me. Like a cross between George Clooney and Noah Wylie from "ER."

Oh yeah, I want this guy digging around in my weird ear.

But, he's an ENT and that's what he gets paid to do. So...I explained my problem and how I had an infection, probably, back in May (this new appointment was in August). 

Hot ENT says, "Did you IGP clean out the ear?"

Apparently, IGP is the only person on the planet who didn't think he had to.

So Hot ENT looked in my ear.  "Well," says he, "You have a giant wad of wax pressing against your eardrum."

He stuck a tiny vaccuum cleaner in my ear and 15 semi uncomfortable seconds later, I could HEAR AGAIN.  (Bummer, no more excuse to NOT go to choir practice! LOL)  

I figured, hey, I'm here, let's run the itchy ear thing by him.

"No," says he. "That's not normal." he looked in my right ear and said, "Your ears are very waxy. It actually looks like you have eczema in there."

Eczema. In my ears.  This is like getting a yeast infection in my arm pits. Which I've also done.  (And yes, the dermatologist was good looking.)

So, he prescribed some oily drops, and told me to stay away from Q-tips because I was pretty much just angering the eczema.  Like Guru Saj angering Ross' koondis.

1)  The gas station is not a pick up joint.

Freshly able to hear, I left the clinic and went to my local Kwik Trip to fill my Mighty Cube's tank.  sounds like a simple task, free and clear of any weirdness, right?

Would it be #1?

so I'm standing there in that tiny space between the Cube and the gas pump, listening to Kwik Trip TV and generally enjoying the lack of ringing and clogged sound in my head.  And then...

"Libertarian?"

This grimy guy, you know the look, like he hasn't showered in anything other than dirt and motor oil in the last three weeks, comes up behind me in that tiny space between the car and the gas pump. Basically I'm hemmed in.  And he's in my face.

"What?"

"Libertarian? Do you listen to Chris Spangle? He's really good."

Oh right. I have a bumper sticker on my car that says, "Libertarian."  I joined the party a couple years ago when, sick of the two party system, I did the one political thing I've ever done in my life, and sent the Libertarians ten bucks.  All I'm going to say is that I'm sure there are really normal people out there who believe in personal freedoms and smaller government like I do...but I haven't met them. The Libertarians I meet tend to be a little more...creepy dirty guy-ish. Like it's some kind of endangered freedom to NOT bathe.

Anyway, this dude has me trapped between the gas pump and the car and oh yeah there's a whiff of BO about him.  He backs up and move around to the front of the Cube to continue the conversation.  "Yeah, Chris Spangle, he's great, you should listen to him."

"Yeah, okay, I'll check that out."  I mean, I'm a Midwesterner. We chat when chatted to.  (Kind of what got me into some trouble on a Greyhound bus when I was 16, but that's another story.)  

"Yeah, I think you'd enjoy that.  Oh and do you listen to WVCY?"

(I do not.  I listen to Bob and Brian weekday mornings and 88 Nine Radio Milwaukee on Saturday mornings because the call in show is the BEST of terrible radio and it's fun.)

"Yeah, WVCY, you'd really like their Sunday morning shows.  You should listen to it sometime. I never miss it."

It occurred to me at this moment that this was not a lonely guy simply chatting up someone while waiting for his car to fill.  (First of all, he didn't have a car.)  Nope, this guy was...trying to pick me up?  At the gas station?

I mean, again, I'm a Midwestern girl. So, manners.  But honestly, I'm conflicted. I mean, I haven't been hit on in a VERY long time.  (Being 50+ and plus sized and also married tends to cut down on that sort of thing. LOL)  So, you know, that was something. But still...greasy guy at the gas station, and he opens by pointing out the political bumper sticker on the car?   (I have other far more interesting bumper stickers on the mighty cube.)

So let this be a lesson to you guys out there: Grocery store, yes. Gas station, no. (But I really feel like I shouldn't have to say this.)

Clearly the Piano Player's Ancestor was on the Titanic.

Howdy all!

I'm working on a bang up Five for Friday this week, hopefully I'll get that out, but first I have to share a little moment in my life that could only happen to me.  (And like maybe the other 10 people who were shopping at Menards on Tuesday night.)

Let me start by saying the weather this summer has been FUNKY.  Up here in Southeastern Wisconsin we've had longer hot stretches than I can remember, and it's been DRY. Sunny, hot, humid, just perfect for those people (of whom I am NOT one) who like to go out and get all tanned while they're gardening or hiking, or biking, or swimming at the local city pool, or whatever it is people who like to be outside like to do.  As for me, I make sure I get my daily walks in before sunrise or after sunset or at the grocery store.  Scarlett O'Hara would envy my milky white skin.

Anyway, so the weather has been funky and really, really dry in terms of rainfall. Everyone I see will say something like, "Boy do we need the rain."  (Except I know they don't mean it because they aren't farmers and 98.7% of the people I've met who aren't farmers but do like to be outside really don't like rain because it keeps them from being, you know, outside.)

The dryness of our weather ended the last two weeks as God looked down from Heaven, realized He hadn't tossed any stormy weather our way in a while, and let loose with all kinds of craptastic weather events.  Super winds, tornados, thunder and lightning, hail, and RAIN.  Rain like you would not believe in the last several days.  

At this point I here my friend and faithful reader, Todd, who lives in Southern California, mock me.  See, I take every chance I get to tell him that Wisconsin weather is superior to California weather because our weather doesn't try to come INDOORS and kills us. You know, like the mudslides, the earthquakes, that sort of thing. Our outside stays outside.

Yeah...well, then this week happened.

But, Wisconsinites, and indeed all Great Lakes Midwesterners don't let a little precipitation get in our way. If we did, we'd never leave our homes during the 8.5 months of winter!  So, on Tuesday, even though the skies were darkening and storms were predicted, hubby wanted to go to Menards because he had a $33 rebate check burning a hole in his pocket and he wanted to look at stuff.

I hadn't eaten dinner yet, (it was about 6 PM) but I wasn't super hungry and figured an outing would be a good thing. So, off to Menards we go!

The thing you have to know about Menards...if you don't know...is that they have EVERYTHING!  Or, at least they have some form of everything, just maybe not the brand names you recognize.  (I mean, you know Dinty Moore Beef Stew? Well they don't have that...but they do have some kind of beef stew and I swear the label is in Russian.)  Menards is a DYI store that also sell some groceries, clothes, books, movies, (None of which I've ever heard of...) and all kinds of candy, furniture, and fun stuff.  You just never, ever know what you're going to find. 

It's the Forest Gump of DIY stores.  

So after wandering for almost an hour, Hubby and I had collected a little more than $33 of odds and ends: a novel, a dvd, two cans of deviled ham spread, a new overhead light for the basement workout room, all of which were tucked nicely in our cart. We were on the second floor which was no biggie. There's this great ramp/people mover that carries humans and carts to the second floor. (They also have elevators, but why would you ride in an elevator when you can ride a RIDE?) 

It was during this wander around the upper level that the lights started to flicker and God in His fury fired many, many bolts of light at the store...like He was mad at it.

I should mention, I also hadn't charged my phone in a while...I was running on about 24% charge.

And then it all went black. And stayed black for a minute while the generators were powering up the back up lights.

And the piano player played on.

oh, did I not mention her?  Well, to add to the fun that is Menards, there's usually a baby grand at the top of the moving rampway and some local high school kid or ex con looking for community service hours, or some local pianist just eager to twiddle away for a couple hours, will sit and play that thing while people shop for toilet seats and dog food and "as seen on TV" crap.

So the lights are out, which means the cash registers are as well. And there are a number of us, maybe a dozen or so, who fumble our way from the corners of the store to gather at the check out area, hoping against hope one of them will just spring to life.

And the piano player played on.

We stood for about fifteen minutes and I couldn't take it any more.  They managed to get one of the cash registers to reboot but things were moving slowly. Hubby suggested I go back to furniture, find a comfy chair, and hang out. He would text me when he was through the line.

Which is what I did. Having very little charge, I couldn't check facebook or anything, so I went old school. I found a wooden rocking chair there in the furniture department. I was parked just below the moving ramp, hence, close to the piano.  So I sat, rocked, and listened to a really twisted mix of the pianist's showtunes and the loudspeaker belting out "YOU SAVE BIG MONEY, WHEN YOU SHOP MENARDS."

The store employees ignored me, except for one guy who asked if I had people checking out up front. I ached to give him some smart aleck answer like, "No, I'm the ghost who lives here and moves crap around at night so the day shift gets mad at the night shift." But the pianist rolled into a very creative version of "Elinor Rigby" and it erased my snarkiness.

So there we were, the pianist on the abandoned second floor and me, in a rocking chair twenty feet below her.  And all I could think about was that string quartet on the Titanic, the guys who played until the boat was halfway under water.  

I'm fairly certain this piano player is descended from one of those guys. And I'm also fairly certain they're proud of her for playing on as thunder and lighting roared around her.

We finally got checked out, but here's one final thing that puts the cherry on the top of the night: That rebate check?  Yeah, we couldn't use it.  The cash registers could process credit payments, but not rebate checks. We'll have to go back and gather up another bunch of stuff worth $33.