Take a Number To Be Abused

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PLEASE TAKE A NUMBER. If you EVER hear this in a medical office, the first sign you are NOT going to be special is when 7658 is your number and they are currently serving number... 9.

I have had many physicals in my life. I have had exams before playing sports, starting jobs, even before getting life insurance approved.

They were all stressful, but predictable. The biggest fear in the past was seeing a new box of rubber gloves on the exam table…but I digress.

However, experiencing my first physical examination in Europe has changed my life forever or should I say, my ability to hold water.

It is hard enough not speaking the same language as the doctor, nurse or lab technician, but I learned nodding my head and saying yes to any medical question without comprehension is NOT a painless solution.

I NOW know what the word, “enema” sounds like in any language-That I can promise as I am studying all the world’s dialects on that word from this moment on.

Even a basic hearing test had psychological impact for years to come. I was placed in pre-war (not sure which war) dark, sound-proof hearing chamber with one small window 18 inches thick.

No instructions, just a stick in my hand with a button to acknowledge I can hear something through my bright(CLOCKWORK) orange headphones.

When you get to be a certain age, even SILENCE makes noise. I could be dead and I would hear some ringing in my ears. Try explaining that when you now look like Cameron Diaz’ brother in SOMETHING ABOUT MARY.

Mmmmmm (CLICK) MMMMMMMMMMM (CLICK) zzzzz (CLICK) mmmmm (CLICK) MMMMM (CLICK) ZZZZZZ…

OK, OK. You are right. I JUST kept pushing the button constantly as they either wanted to see if I could determine the mating call of a hummingbird or the sounds echoing from a black hole light years away.

I handle marketing, not clinical trials for dogs’ acute decibel sense of relativity. Just tell me which of my ears can hear the theme to THE SOPRANOS and which does not. Bada Bing (right ear)…Bada Boom (left ear). ‘nuff said.

The eye test was not as painful but much more frustrating. I was asked to REMOVE my glasses before I took the EYE test. I can not even read the top line that says…SEHTEST UNTEN (EYE TEST BELOW). So what do you expect from my vision going forward?!

“How about now?” Says the young eye technician after making a slight adjustment.

“How about NOW what? Can you tell I still am not wearing my glasses. Those are just mimic marks on my nose and ear from always wearing something which was designed to see just what you are showing me not to see.”

Ok, and now?” she repeated over and over as the chart never focused only got brighter.

“Um. I can read the fact that you don’t care I can’t see without my glasses, but if you are asking me is that an E, M, or W, up, down or sideways? The answer is D, all of the above.

After they ran complete and industry strength blood tests with six different test tubes, inserted needles into three missing veins on both arms and pricked my fingers so many times I left the lab resembling an old rusty beer can that endured a week at a red-neck rifle range…they finally ended my day with the customary drug test in a cup.

The moment of truth…

Please, be honest. Tell me if YOU would not also be confused if a nurse formerly from the Olympic discus team commands you to go #1 in a cup and place #2 in the box.

Wait….Wait, I thought the same thing until I saw there was a HOLDING BOX in the bathroom of where to place my number 1 test sample ----ONLY then, did I realize what she truly was requesting. WHEW.

I am glad she meant(2) TWO steps to follow before I felt a need to leave a compliant number 2 present as I left the office.

SEE!!!! This is why I will ALWAYS wear glasses for my physicals.

The Root of All Evil

THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL

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“I on’t n o wat to o ith y ongue orry”, I mouthed to my execution loving dentist as he gave me a root canal last night. For how deep his hands explored, I assume it included a frontal lobotomy at no extra charge.

I should have known this was going to be one of those days where I give anything to trade places with a tortured hostage than have this current Spanish inquisition weaponry explore my mouth simultaneously as I tried to breathe through one nostril and a quarter of my mouth.

“I’m going to numb the area before I numb the area,” the sanctimonious oral hit man declared right before he swabbed my mouth with expired Q-tips.

Numb the area before you numb the area? Hmmm. how about truly numbing the area you are going to numb the first time so you don’t have to numb again on top of the numb area?.. Numby!!!

“Why don’t you watch TV, ESPN? CNN? OPRAH?” he elaborates, hoping a 27 inch flat screen in my face will comfort me while he forces his elbow into my chin holding my tongue out of the way preaching his “painless” method of inflicting pain.

Love how he says each time HE takes a breath sing songing “HEY buddy, the worse part is overrrrr.”

REALLY?..the worse part is over?…So I won’t have to be concerned you will use that combo Black and Decker Sander/Drill/Saw on my gums anymore?...Seriously, you aren’t going to suck the insides of my lungs out with that wet/dry vac from your a Dyson designed fire hose.

Yes, thank you for building up my confidence for the crescendo of your final performance of the day. I’m sure you tell your wife the same thing after you have your bimonthly “checkup” with her right after the Friday evening news and before Jay Leno.

After what seems like hours, but I’m sure it was days, he loses his patience. “Please relax…Stop struggling, I’m almost done.” EXCUSE ME? I’m not a child with a low pain threshold…I will have you know I have watched Season 9 American Idol and was able to endure their lack of talent and voices. A little mouth surgery is NOTHING compared to that weekly pain.

If you want me to stop struggling, change places for one minute and let me hold your mouth open SOOO wide Pinocchio and Gepetto mistaken YOU for their next dark adventure.

As I got up to rinse, I realized the numbness worked at least in one respect. I was drooling like a 90 year old with incontinence of the mouth and I would vent about the expensive bill, but “I an’t omplainin ‘bout anyhing ats ets me outta here aster”.

Feeling Helpless with the Help Desk

Feeling Helpless with the Help Desk

http://www.cynicalbuzz.com

For my vacation day, I decided to not travel to far away places, read a good novel, or sleep past 7 am. No, that would be smart. For my day off, I decided to be productive, get up early and clear up some bills, tasks and paperwork from my last month’s trip to my doctor.

All morning, I’ve been on the phone with a helpdesk “automated” operator. How do I know she is a machine? Because she can’t be rattled, insulted or verbally abused. I know, I’ve tried. No matter what words I throw at her, enunciate, spell-out or scream; she stays calm in her monotone metallic response mode and calmly makes me spend hours on a phone which would be solved with a 5 minute live operator just saying “YES, you owe the whole bill thingy, no partial payments allowed. Pay it or we’ll confiscate your house.”

REALLY? Isn’t that all we want, resolution, closure and some truly LIVE person we can curse at afterwards and thank them for abusing you in real time? Is that asking for too much in my time of disgust? I can’t curse at R2D2 with a voice.

I have repeated my option “BILLING ISSUES STILL” and she has politely asked me if I’m approving my “LIVING TISSUE WILL?”

She keeps asking me for my “PASSWORD” as I told her that she erred with the "LAST WORD” I constantly repeat my “RECENT ADDRESS” but she keeps referring back to my diagnosis of “DECENT STRESS”. Stress?...Oh, maybe just a little right now…Keep talking JUDY Freakin’ JETSON.

So now I’m completely lost, I can’t reset my password, I had no idea my 2^nd dog had a middle name. I am only 50% sure of my state of birth or my password reminder 7-digit code that includes upper/lower letters and numbers.

I inhale and try to breathe; I can only ponder if it’s a felon to kill a computerized voice that doesn’t listen to me either phonetically or literally. As I have now decided, if I want to be ignored to this extent, I’ll just go back to work.

No Sense of Urgency

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No Sense of Urgency

I know we don’t CHOOSE to go to an Emergency Room. If we did it, it would be called the “eh…it’s not so bad yet” room. But having the privilege of walking into an Emergency Room just before midnight, incurs motivation to never, ever get sick, get in a accident or run with scissors after 11 pm because the words, “urgent care” truly means take a 3 digit number and don’t bleed on the waiting room couch.

At that time of the night, when you are competing against Methadone withdrawals, guys who try to pimp out their car without lights and children who have objects stuck up their noses, your opinion of what is critical quickly dissipates.

But at least next time I visit an E.R., I’ll know what to wear to the event. I’m going to dress up in 80’s gym shorts with a button down shirt and work boots to ensure I fit in. I truly wasn’t thinking fashion when I arrived through the automatic doors as I looked like I was wearing Garanimals matching my shirt with a pair of jeans before heading out.

However, I think the “medi-tease” is the worse part of the waiting. When you walk in and they instantly take your ID, credit card and blood pressure as you describe your situation; you assume they are prepping you for the immediate attention you have been paying insurance premiums for all these years.

What they don’t tell you is that your deductible has now been withdrawn faster than a Bernie Madoff cash deposit and you are delayed and expendable until the lady who is hallucinating and the man who forgot his pants are treated for exhaustion, sleep deprivation and stress.

“HELLO, EXCUSE ME, I have those three symptoms every day, but to me, that isn’t an emergency, that’s a Tuesday.”

After two hours, I am asked to wear the “gown” of exposure and sit in the Hall of Purell because all the double occupancy exam rooms are filled with people who are STILL one pulse ahead of me in life AND death.

The only people passing me in this cold corridor of numbness are spouses and significant others of the patients who are taking my spot on the human conveyor belt. …and their only goal is to get outside to smoke every 10 minutes because their loved ones are causing them stress….and these were the NON-smokers.

Finally the doctor on-call stops by to ask me the same questions the receptionist asked me two hours ago and literally says, “So, what do you think it is?”

“Mmmm. Well Doc, based on my years of watching St. Elsewhere, General Hospital, ER, Chicago Hope and Family Guy, I think I am already dead and you need to call CSI and Homicide because I’m ready to kill someone.”

But I don’t feel any pain now that I got that off my chest. Thank goodness my deductible is only $100.00 or I would feel I REALLY wasted my money.

Sleeping with the Fishes

In boardroom when a potential vendor came in to pitch an innovative idea. One of their female partners who sat across from me fell asleep on and off for 30 minutes during her associates' presentation.

I tried to ignore the silent disruption and focus on the material but if you know me at all you knew this wasn't going to help their case as my attention was observing the slumping executive drooling on the table.

I turned to the female Rip Van Winkle and asked her during one of her conscious moments, "Would you like someone to get you some coffee or a soda?" She replied like an early wake up call from a hotel operator, "No, no..I'm so sorry, I'll be fine but I have to tell you that I happen to suffer from Necrophilia."

GULP!! As the other 10 people struggled not to gasp for whatever oxygen still remained in the room, I, BEING the calm ocean of reason during this shocking admission replied with a straight face, "YOU ARE TELLING US YOU SLEEP WITH DEAD PEOPLE?"

"NO, OH MY GOD, NO!, I meant to say I have Narcolepsy..Narcolepsy..not Necrophilia."


Now that the whole room was finally AWAKE, I proceeded to jump on this like a wild dog with raw meat as I just couldn't allow a moment like this to pass me without savoring the moment.

"First," I blurted out while holding back my tears of laughter, "If I had your misfortune to suffer from such a debilitating disorder, I would learn how NOT to confuse it with a class 2 felony. Secondly, I might even tattoo Webster's definition on the names of sleep disorders on my hand to forever preclude this ever happening again."

The apologies were abundant from both Sleeping nonBeauty and her fellow Knights of Boredom. But I wasn't finished. "Perhaps you all should go back to your funeral home, I mean office and figure out a better way to sell your ideas on exciting, innovating programs as I too, was starting to fall asleep after seeing your one slide of 250 words without a graphic being read to me. As I forgot to tell you, I suffer from 'TIREDOFSEEINGSAMECRAPOLEPSY'." However NOW, I will never fall asleep in a meeting that I am aware someone like YOU might mistaken me for a corpse and I'd come out of my slumber being violated by an awakening Narcoleptic who doesn't even know her own diagnosis."

I thanked them for an eye opening presentation that had no equal as I had to move quickly on to my next vendor presentation on newly discovered orgasms...I MEAN, organisms.

Sleepless For All the Wrong Reasons

You've been there. Unless you are 9 months old and your only concern in life is NOT if you will be changed in the morning, but how often-Then you have been THERE.

Where? In that world where you are WIDE AWAKE and no place to go.


Are you concerned you haven't watched enough Reality TV and your favorite Idol just didn't get enough text messages from your cheap 30 messages max-a-month plan to make to next week or the late night talk circuit didn't give you enough stupid people tricks with people who think they actually have a talent (sorry, but I can make disturbing noises with my body too, but I don't go on Letterman to prove it to my pals back at Costco.)

Or were you stuck flipping channels and couldn't turn off one of the 50 Meg Ryan movies playing after midnight where she..um..yes...CRIES. (I guarantee she get paid by the teardrop)

What keeps us up? Truly, we have to understand that nothing can or will be done until the morning, where that alarm you set clearly to music the night before goes off playing static white noise which is not what you perceived it would sound like 8 hours before.

It must be that you are trying to even out the duration of how long you slept on the left side versus the right versus the lying flat on the back position.

Did you spend enough time on your stomach with a tempur-pedic pillow perpetually punched or did you exercise your right to submit to the fetal-tucked position with all the blankets wrapped around you?

Perhaps what is keeping you awake is your good heart where you ponder your existence with in regards to the devastation of global warming, the pummeling economy or worse yet, if A-ROD really, truly chose VOGUE as his favorite Madonna song.

How silly of me. It's probably every ache and pain that never existed in your body 10 years ago that exists today just for the sole reason to prove you are aging.

It could be the anxiety of retiring before you hit 100. But then again, if you sleep walk until then, you will just have more time to lay awake wondering did I just waste one of my last nights on Earth ..SLEEPING?

Some of us may even dream of the next time they visit a mattress store and no one will be in there to help them to pick out the SERTA PERFECT SLEEPER?

I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt and think you may be completely unselfish and are just worrying for others.

Yes, you could be concerned about your children, parents, friends, co-workers or just that damn neighbor next door who plays the 80's music NO one admits playing. (Who on this earth remembers Marillion and Sly Fox?)

Are you just methodically going through your todo list for tomorrow?Are you thinking, "I didn't call you, write him, remind her, drop off this one, pick up that one, schedule, meet, eat or finish the list from yesterday. Honestly, I haven't even touched the list from the last millennium, let alone yesterday and I wasn't sleeping much then either but I had a legitimate cold so the extra dose of Sudafed helped."

I would hate to think its an over stimulus as my mind still hauntingly echos T.I and Justin Timberlake's song DEAD AND GONE.

...I"m DRIVING ON THIS ROAD SOO LONG.TOO LONG...TRYING TO FIND MY WAY BACK HOME.....OOOHHHHoooohhh.. I turn my body to the north.....I turn my body to the east .....

Now it can't be MY reason..Perhaps yours? And if it was mine, Do you think I'd put it in writing?

I think most of us don't sleep because it just feels like deja vu all over again. But I would expect the number one reason we are having trouble sleeping is not for lack of effort, no warm milk, or temperature variances in our homes. I think it has to do more with the fact I need to ..um...let's see...where was i? zzzzzz zzzzzz zzzzz.

Paying for Pain, Not Pleasure

There must be a reason I don't get massages that often. I have only had a few in my life, but the ones I have had were surprisingly pleasant....until this weekend in Las Vegas.




When I was asked at this beautiful spa overlooking an amazing hotel what type of massage would I prefer this lovely warm morning.

I was very honest and expressed the fact I'm not that familiar with categories of relaxation and anything to remove this little twinge in my back after my five hour flight to Las Vegas would be the most desirable.

DESIRABLE? After 45 minutes with this little lady with hands of steel, I can't even spell masssage anymore. Yes, the first 15 seconds were bliss with her teasing me with the delightful sounds, aromas and low lights.

Then for the rest of my conscious session, I felt as thought I was in a slow motion car wreck without air bags.

Little did I know until after I paid for this "massage", they chose a deep tissue, fusion therapy for me --which in Las Vegas, stands for

"I OWN YOU NOW"

I truly haven't experienced that much pain since I had multiple root canals years ago and the dentists has a Polaroid of how I left my fingernails embedded in his chair for all the future patients to be forewarned.

As I grunted with each elbow jarring pressure point on my back and shoulders, I was praying for my time to end both in the room and on this earth. My masseuse, Max, which was short for Maxine or perhaps she couldn't afford to legally change her name after the OPERATION, tried to ensure me that all is well in the city that never sleeps, nor can they after spending time with her.

"Are you COMFORTABLE?" crackled her words through a five pack a day voice box. "SURE, I always like discovering new muscles and bones in my body that have been dormant since the 5th grade." Yes, I literally had Joe Pesci with breasts asking me, "I'm funny? I'm funny how? DO I AMUSE YOU?" as she snapped my body with each roll of her knuckle and I swear she hit my belly button....FROM my back.

I don't know which was worse, when she started to crush the left side of my body not knowing what part of me was going to break first--or anticipating the right side KNOWING what she was going to do with the only part of me not ready for traction.

A short pause for her to reload her hands (and for me to plan my escape) she continued this Spanish inquisition by pouring hot blistering oil on me from above like I was trying to raid her King's castle. I am here trying to enjoy my time in Las Vegas and I end up having my own personal MASSAGE NAZI screaming as she punished me to oblivion, "NO PLEASURE FOR YOU".

I'm only speaking for myself, but If I'm going to be laid out on a nice leather bed all vulnerable in the state of Nevada, I at least want to know why I'm being labeled as a "bad boy"...Y'know what I'm saying?

At the end of the the Jack Bauer (24) interrogation of my body and mind, she left me helpless in the room alone to pick up my robe, slippers and strength, but my innocence was left on that table for others to again be forewarned as my next therapy session will take place on a leather couch and prescription drugs.

They say what happens in Vegas stays there. But that shouldn't include my dignity, $175.00 and the ability to speak in full sentences just to cry Uncle repeatedly until they find me a new legal guardian to remove me from the premises.

My food...My choice

Don't ask me why I read labels on my food and drinks. I haven't a clue. Maybe I think I'll find something good in the bad or discover that one special ingredient I'm missing from my USDA vitamin list.

Total Cereal has a great label. They are telling you that you have no reason to read their label. In huge letters, it says, 100% of what you need today. Quick, easy and allows me to finish my comics instead of looking up what the heck Niacin is.

I'm wincing at the makers of anything "fruity" in their drinks. I keep seeing,"This contains 2% REAL fruit juice. TWO percent? I get more juice chewing on my watermelon flavored Hubba Bubba gum than when I drink 8 ounces of their liquid. (Hubba Bubba..ANYONE?...ANYONE?)

Enough of this labeling. Let's just call it what it is. If you order a Double Whopper with cheese, don't expect anything but a big label in block letters stating,

"Eat more than 10 of these in a month will lower your life expectancy by five years less than if you ordered the single Whopper. Order the large fries along with it and you will live one day less than if you went to Wendy's and ordered a Double Baconator."

It is that simple.

Forget marketing the healthy and non-healthy labels to us. We are smarter than that I hope. Just tell us our life expectancy on each thing we eat and let us choose our own path. If I want to know the carbs/protein ratio of a energy bar, then so be it. What I truly want to know is this peanut butter and chocolate equivalent of a Milky Way will give me enough energy until I can have another salty nut energy bar with chocolate and peanut butter. I'm kinda easy like that.

At Denny's: The equivalent of a Grand Slam Breakfast or a Fruit bowl with yogurt. Hmmmm, I don't even care of the price, (they are both $3.99) I just want to know does one allow me to live to see my grandkids graduate high school or long enough to see another election year.

My decision: So leave me be with the nutritional labels.

This is not about eating right. This is about wanting to know what choices I am making before I make them. The irony is that WE ALL know what is good and bad before we choose. We always have.

We just use their labels to help US help ourselves. Low fat doesn't mean it isn't inundated with sugar. Cholesterol free doesn't mean it doesn't have fat. High in Protein doesn't mean its not high in sodium. There is a reason there are millions of blogs, books and articles about eating right...NO one can tell you what you already know.

We choose the Whopper cause it tastes good. We choose the salad because we had the whopper yesterday. We choose the "NUTRITION" bar cause it looks like a Snickers Bar. We choose the Vitamin Water cause it says, VITAMINS, not cane sugar, crystalline fructose, citric acid, caffeine and ester gum extract as its label.

....and I? I choose to write early in the morning because Wendy's isn't open until 11am.

Sleep Walking Through a Business Case

Whether it is the Mattress Cowboys, 1-800Mattress or Sleepy's, after driving by strip mall after shopping plaza and see endless discount mattress and bedding outlets and stores, I'm lost..Someone find me a bed to nap in and explain to me how these places makes money?

We all love to sleep and personally, I have bought a few mattresses in my lifetime but we aren't talking about an investment in cars or houses. SOOO, how do they stay in business?

DO you ever think each weekend, "HONEY, It's Saturday, lets go get ANOTHER mattress because we haven't got one in like..um...5 weeks and the old one has crumbs in it."

or

"Sweetheart, do you have your old mattresses ready to go? I'll stop by the Serta outlet and pick up your new ones before I go to the dry cleaners."

Now don't get me wrong. I wake up every day with a stiff back and numb legs thinking maybe I need a new mattress.

But I don't actually GO BUY ONE. Do you? My next one is going to be either a Tempur-Pedic or Craft-o-Matic roll with the heated pads but I only have to call the 800 number from Ed McMahon to have that one delivered because NO one would get caught BUYING one of those in a STORE without a doctor's prescription. (wink)

POP QUIZ: When was the last time you went into a mattress discounter? Really..unless Party City was next door and you saw a fake brass bed that reminded you of your grandparent's bedroom set or because it was adjacent to an TGIF's and you had 30 minutes to kill before your vibrating paging coaster went off so you can get your THREE FOR ALL appetizer smothered in Jack's sauce.

But even if you and your significant other decided to digress to 1950's TV sleeping arrangements (DICK VAN DYKE, LUCY AND DESI.. et al) and move to separate rooms on the same floor with your own beds...THAT is still only TWO beds bought over a few years.

Yes, I could be thinking too much about this dilemma in a world where economic struggles run much deeper than box springs and bed skirts. But it IS these things that keep me up at night.....

or perhaps it is my insomnia caused by the fact I just need a new mattress from DISCOUNT BOB's?

Key Master of Suburbia

Excuse me. I see you trying to find your wallet and all I can say as you sort through your faux Coach bag is, "Where you going with that tool belt of metal and plastic?"

Schneider from "One Day at a Time" only had 5 keys and he was the building superintendent for that whole building.

Please, I'm listening. What do you need other than a house key, a car key and your HEALTH FITNESS plastic mini membership card? Serious, I saw your grocery cart, I know that COSTCO card is used way more than that ExerWISE tab and your key chain on a leash is equivalent to one average size dumbbell as it is.

Let me help. Keep your garage door opener in the car: Dump the female version of a Swiss Army knife as it has no purpose other than to create havoc at security in the department stores.

Remove those souvenir items along with your rabbit's tail and your car will get another 10 mpg per tank of gas. Seriously, how often do you really open a beer bottle while you are driving anyway?

Those other keys. What are they good for? Absolutely nothing. There is just no possible way anyone in this world gave you access to anything other than your souped up 1999 Honda Prelude.

I truly thought when you pulled it out, you were setting up a Coleman Family Tent for six and your keys were the support poles. I haven't seen that much junk hooked together since MacGyver went off the air back in '92.

Go home, unload that knapsack with anything other than the key to the car you are actually driving and perhaps you won't spend the next few minutes in front of me complaining that your have lower back problems.

Better yet. Here's $25.00. Buy your self the Clapper for every electronic item you own and begin your new healthy new year's resolution by working on your upper body. Blog On...Blog Off.

I'm Listening, But Can't Hear a Word You Said

I do watch too much TV. I think of it like a traffic accident. I just can't look away because I feel I will miss the epitome of a 10-car pile up right in front of my eyes.

Need one more gift before the holiday? Need that little something something to truly cap off a festive season? Look no further than this amazing plastic (faux metal) box with ToysRus headphones. The LISTENUP SOUND amplifier is the cure for all who truly need to hear who hates them today.

That's right, hold this inconspicuous 1988 beeper/pager up to the world to bring in that mysterious ambient noise that you haven't been able to decipher from all the normal garbage we hear daily for a full comprehension of the moment's waste of oxygen.

I don't know about you. But do I truly want to hold this up (CHEST HIGH AND POINTED AT THE SOURCE OF AUDIO) to hear my neighbors complain about my dog's bathroom habits or how I haven't raked leaves since April?

Do I want to spend my bonus money on the ability to hear all that I have been ignoring my whole life? I don't think so. There is a reason I wait until I hear people repeat their request three times. I'm a man and I have this hope they will forget what they actually need me to do again before asking a fourth time. I perhaps see the need to bring it to church, but I might accidentally have my iPod plugged into it..HEY.... I'm JUST SAYING.

The most exciting part of this device to me is the fact that if I ever saw someone wearing this technological wonder of one AAA battery with a belt clip, I would silently mouth the Gettysburg address, laughing intermittently, to cause such paranoia and panic in this pseudo spy of the eavesdrop world, they would turn the volume up soo high, they will actually hear Arctic wolves howl for the dinner before they hear me say with complete clarity, "I just read that those devices cause incontinence in three of out four users and I just heard my neighbor has one."

Just Review this blog on the days you don't Read

You HAVE to be kidding me! Driving out of the Lincoln Tunnel into the city and to see a Verizon billboard that has as much logic as building a tunnel under 4 billion gallons of water to get to an island.

A PAY-AS-YOU-GO plan is great for the 8 people on the planet who only use their cell phone in emergencies. But seeing in all its magnificent glory in a slogan that says, "JUST PAY ON THE DAYS YOU USE IT" high above my metropolis mix of 8,274,527 people who never, ever remove their cell phones from their ears just seems like a waste of billboard space.

When is the last time you ever DIDN'T use your cell phone? Maybe 2001 when you left it in the wash with your Starbucks gift card?

I'll save you time for the the next billboards in the area. Don't worry about compensating me for my ideas. I promise you its completely MY pleasure.

For Weight Watchers plan, "Only get fat on the days you eat".

For Health Insurance, "Just pay on the days you aren't feeling well".

For a college fund, "Only pay for the tuition if you kid gets a job after that doesn't include asking if they want fries with the order".

For iTunes, "Only pay for the song if it wasn't sampled, copied, repetitive, sung by John Mayer or has la la la in it".

For Poland Spring, "Pay only for the water if you can't get the same wet liquid out of your tap at home"

For the airline industry, "Pay for only the flights you actually reach your destination."

For Verizon's next million dollar idea, "How about I pay triple for the days I don't use my phone?"

Tailored Made for Misery

OUCH. I mean...OUCH. I was fitted for a Tuxedo and I NOW know where Sadists go when they get old. My tailor looks like the sweetest elderly lady you could ever meet. She never stops saying thank you and repeatedly says OK to anything you ask regarding dry cleaning or clothes. But take a chance and ask her to take in a pair of pants and a jacket and you open the floodgates of her past life as the Pain Minister of Acupuncture .

I'm thinking a few minutes of a tug here, a fold there and a quick mark of a wax pencil with a safety pin and I'm done..outta here and off to pick up dinner.

There is a reason I don't gamble as I couldn't have been farther off and I will never, REPEAT NEVER, let this 4 ft. frame of a woman fool me again with her sweet smile. I walked out to the parking lot with the confidence knowing that my prostate is normal, I do bleed red each time I'm poked and my voice can rise two octaves with the right amount of pressure.

I forgot to ask her if she takes health care insurance because I haven't had that thorough of a physical since I played high school football.

Getting changed behind a 3 Ft. louvre screen that has as much privacy as a Swiss Spa, didn't help comfort my doubt of her tape measure prowess. She's screaming numbers out to her assistant who I never saw. (scary thought in itself). "35...... 36...no 35.5...No...35" she screams out in two different cadences.

Where am I? Is this a tailor behind me or is Tom Brady getting ready to hike a football from between my legs?

Sorry, you lost all my confidence in your statement of "NO PAIN, TWO MINUTES promise", when I asked about how all this could be done today.

So I surely don't believe you when you tell me the pin needs to break the skin to ensure a proper fit. "No lady, I'm NOT tensing up...You just happen to "grab" me to help yourself off the ground and I haven't been used like that without someone buying me at least a drink AND dinner."

I truly couldn't tell you if the tuxedo is going to fit me. But I promise my new "best friend" with a pin cushion knows more about my body shape, size, measurement and BMI than any HoMedic's scale on the market.

I walked away in complete denial, not knowing if I should be ashamed or thankful I didn't ask to have her for a second date.

No Pain No Gain

Hi. Yes YOU. The one who isn't sweating after 20 minutes of riding a bike. Perhaps I can shed some light on the issue of you still haven't lost that college 20 you gained since 1993.

I know no one loves to exercise. We deal, adapt and enjoy the benefits, but we don't love it like we love chocolate or sleep.

But I was behind you on a treadmill and saw your attempt at fitness on the lifecycle and I just have to comment.

First of all, If you bring a cup of coffee and a newspaper to workout, you have already disrupted the fitness gods, they will not be on your side when you get on the scale later today. I know, TRUST ME.

Second, to actually benefit from working out, your heart rate needs to be a higher number than your waist size. Not trying to be mean, only helpful, (wink) but if you continue at that record pace of 3 mph so you don't spill your latte grande you might actually gain 5 lbs before you decide you are spent for the day. Seriously, you almost look as if you are going backwards.

Third, Yes, your iPod will get tangled in your pedals if you stick it in your short's pocket REPEATEDLY not learning from the the first dozen times it falls on the ground and you blurt out, "Oh NO, AGAIN?"

I know I shouldn't shrug my shoulders and sigh out loud when I address this with you but what is with that SUNDAY TIMES on your lap while you look as if you are churning butter at an AMISH farm with your legs? What are you trying to accomplish other than increasing your SUDOKU puzzle muscles? You can't be doing the CROSSWORDS as you answered the FIVE letter word for late night meal as "TGIF's"

I'm sorry. The towel? What is that for? um...its to wipe the spills from your latte off of the heartbeat monitor so it can show the next person that they have a heart.

Cause after writing this, I supposedly lost my right to express mine.

If exercise was supposed to be fun, it would be called binging.

Stressed Out Over Stress Test

I guess when you hit a certain age, you can't even bend over without having to get a physical or stress test first. Either that, or there is an arcade game in every doctor's office that doesn't take change, only co-pays. I found out the hard way and $40.00 in quarters later.

I had my first stress test this morning. Nurse asks me, "How you feeling today?" Let's see, you are shaving my chest with a Dry Bic Razor, sticking a cold wet (for lack of a better term) pastie on 8 different spots on my body and preparing me to get on a treadmill that was last serviced during the Spanish Inquisition with a tackle box with wires attached to my hip with most of my clothes off. "Um..I'm just ducky, thanks for asking."

Watching the heart monitor while I WAIT and wait for the doctor...SEE back issue blog http://cynicalbuzz.blogspot.com/2008/05/bleeding-for-godot.html

The monitor says I'm actually living for the moment at 45 beats per minute (bpm). Isn't that closer to unconscious than awake? As I think of the net results before I even step a foot on the treadmill, I watch my stress anxiety take the bpm's up all the way to 75 and I'm not even standing yet.

Cardiologist comes in and tells me to start walking slowly. (What? after sitting here waiting for 45 minutes, you want me to crawl on this rubber hamster wheel without stretching? Isn't that grounds for malpractice?)

I courageously say, "Crank it up doc, You told me to Fast before showing up and I need to eat something before my stomach sets off a need for a G.I. test."

Did I mention his lab assistant is taking my blood pressure every other minute. (HELLO, if you want me to finish this micro marathon sometime this morning, don't ask me to take my hand off the safety rail for 20 second intervals so you can squeeze my armpit and cause my arm to go limp)

After 10 more minutes, they elevate the treadmill to the Mt. Fuji setting and the assistant "accidentally" hits the 18 mph on the dial. At that moment I swear if they don't give me a Gold Medal just for surviving this race of life, I'm going to protest to the AMA and demand a new judge. --WHAT? too much Summer Olympics in my life this week?

I finish, I live, I scream (silently of course) as she rips my new hairless circles off my (NOW) pasty white skin and they tell me I'm fine until next year.

I dress, I jump in my car, open a energy bar I had just for this purpose and it has melted against the wrapper so I'm sucking the chocolate out of cellophane. Someone take my stress setting now, as I wouldn't even pass the WalMart employee exam. Plus, I hear the "Say Welcome in the first three seconds of observing a customer" section is a bear".