How Did I Get Here?

Quote of the Day: “For most folks, no news is good news; for the press, good news is not news.”

I know you have all been waiting for the update on the retard that was posing as a Marine. For those that don’t know anything about this, here is your primer:

———————————————

- March 10th, 2010: Ass Clown

- March 18th, 2010: Ass Clown, Part Two

———————————————

So it seems I am not the only one up in arms about this waste of DNA. I got this note by someone worse off than me:

———————————————

Subject: Regarding Jaime St. Clair

I can give you his real name, address, dob, phone number…whatever will help you nail him. He is a con artist and a thief.

———————————————

I was also contacted by another irate Marine who expresses himself very Marine-like (ha):

———————————————

I would like to say hello, My Name Is Brad I took an interest in Jamie St. Claire de- pole smoker I have some intel that’s going to make your pecker tingle. Due to OPSEC I know you keep this under wraps until it goes down! My Boy Alex and I have been hot on this shit ever since we ran across his sorry as on the group (of angry 03’s) F’n Boot on FB.

V,R
Brad
3/2 Kilo.co, S.T.A. plt
98-02

———————————————–

I wrote to Facebook explaining to them that the dingle-berry was using my pictures and they responded with the following:

———————————————–

Hi Jason,

Kieran
User Operations
Facebook

—————————————————

I did receive some questions about the quiz I sent to the faker and I was torn between explaining the answers and not making it easier for him and others to fake their way in the future. Here is a conversation I had with one of the followers of this drama:

———————————————–

IronKnight,

– Answer: since the Depot shares a fenceline with the San Diego Airport runway, the roar of the planes taking off drown out everything, even Drill Instructors. So anything being relayed to the Recruits is paused for about 10 seconds while the plane takes off. It is a little surreal to listen to a royal ass-chewing, have it paused and the DI go into an almost serene state, and then explode all over again when the plane is done.

Free Advice for Today: “When visiting a small town at lunch time, chose the cafe on the square.”

Quote of the Day: “I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn’t it.”

Today I helped my son enroll in his last course load of high school.

If you recall, he is part of the Running Start program which allows a high school student to take classes at the local community college for credits that satisfy his high school requirements, thus he gets both high school and college credit, all on the high school dime.

Sweet.

When he first signed up for this, it was late in the summer (last year) and all of the classes at the nearest community college (Bellevue) were full so he had to enroll at the Green River Community College which takes about 40 minutes to drive to.

Not so sweet.

I have had some issues with Green River, mostly having to do with their uncooperative staff that wouldn’t talk to me nor resolve an issue with an online class. I know they won’t talk to parents (no leeway on that at all which I found rather rude) but they wouldn’t even investigate a glitch in their online test-taking procedures which in turn caused my son to fail a test.

Poor form, Green River.

For this reason and to head off another year of 40+ minutes of commute both ways, we are going to enroll Alex in Bellevue College. Not only is this closer (15 minutes) but it is, by all accounts, a better school.

But of course it’s not without its red tape tomfoolery.

For example, we called up the school to get some advice on classes. Here is where we were at:

Alex wants to get a degree in graphic arts, specifically computer graphic arts. We needed to know what was the best course of study for him. We guessed there was some kind of predetermined course for this, maybe through the arts and science department. We didn’t know, we just needed to get a foothold on where to get looking.

Here is basically how the conversation went:

Me: Hi, I need to schedule an appointment with a counselor for my son.
BC: Is he enrolled?
Me: No, he needs to talk to a counselor to see what course of study to take.
BC: He needs to be enrolled to talk to a counselor
Me: But, you see, to ENROLL, he needs the advice of a counselor. COUNSEL, if you will.
BC: He must enroll and then he can make an appointment with a counselor
Me: How does he know what to enroll in without talking to a counselor to figure out, wait for it,…. what to enroll for?
BC: We have limited counselors so their appointments are reserved for students who are enrolled.
Me: So you leave it to the students to figure out what to enroll in so the counselors can tell them they enrolled for the wrong course for what they are pursuing,
BC: He needs to be enrolled to talk to a counselor
Me: Yeah, you said that. I want to thank you for your help. Your assistance has been a breath of fresh air in this age of red tape and low job performance.

Click.

As though my son gets his jollies from signing up for counseling appointments at local colleges without any intention on going there. It’s a little game he likes to play to pass the time and clog the system.

In other news, my son starts classes tomorrow and he waits until now to broach the issue of actually having a textbook.

Dad and Craig’s List to the rescue.

We found the book he needed but it was in Gig Harbor. I called and set up a meeting at a grocery store in Tacoma. I was kind of excited because I had never been that deep into Tacoma and had never crossed the Narrows Bridge.

We got a sweet deal on the book and I assume it was Mommy and Daddy picking up the bill for this kid so selling it for peanuts after he was done wasn’t likely a big deal for Junior. All the better for me. All it cost me is some gas and a trip to Tacoma. On a Tuesday night, there was no traffic and I got to spend time with my son.

We got to the parking lot and after a series of phone calls, we met up and it went down like a drug deal. He pulled his car up to mine, I slid him a wad of money, and he handed over the book.

Man, did I feel like a gangsta.

On the way home, we hit a Taco Bell and I have to say, I had a good time talking with my son and sharing a Taco Hell dinner (the wife and daughter could take it or leave it so now it’s kind of “our thing.”)

Oh, and if you have never been across the Narrow’s Bridge, it’s AWESOME!

Free Advice for Today: “Never compromise integrity.”

Quote of the Day: “The fascination of shooting as a sport depends almost wholly on whether you are at the right or wrong end of the gun.”

You must know this about my wife: everyone loves her. She could make friends with all of Satan’s demons in the span of a few minutes. I, on the other hand, am borderline sociopathic. Unless I’m drunk. Then I’m just criminally insane.

(It occurs to me that I don’t have a job yet so if any potential future employers are watching, delete the above statement and replace with “this guy is hilarious, just what my company needs, let’s hire him and float a 6-figure income his way.” Thanks.)

Getting back to my point, my wife is uncommonly likable. It has been this way since I have known her and, as the story goes, began before I even met her when we were in high school.

Case in point, she accompanied a friend to a job interview at a grocery store when she was in high school. The result, Carrie was offered the job on the spot.

There are literally hundreds of examples just like this where things just work out for her like this. I mean, come on, she landed me … OK, maybe not a great example but let’s get back to the story….

Just about every job she has ever taken worked pretty much the same way. If she can get an interview, she is as good as hired.

So imagine my surprise when today, a certain bank that rhymes with Spank of America, turned her down for a teller position.

When she came home and told me, I was like “No, wait, huh? That can’t… how, what?”

It just didn’t make any sense.

“Did they SEE you? Did they TALK to you?”

Obviously, Spank of America has some serious SERIOUS hiring problems.

I don’t know if you are familiar with this but the way it goes these days is that you apply online. Then you have a phone interview. Then another interview with some recruiter. Then, and only then, do you actually interview with the branch manager where there is the opening.

Carrie had made it through all of these wickets until the last one. Obviously, I thought she was in like Flynn. I mean, her track record dictated that she should be starting today.

To make matters worse, the hiring manager’s ex-husband was a Marine so, boom, the Marine spouse connection was made. They knew, and discussed common friends. Everything seemed perfect. Nothing could stop the Power of Carrie from getting this job….

Yeah, no.

They decided “to go in a different direction.”

Really? I got a direction, Spank of America….. OK, I’ll be nice.

But here is the kicker and I need a sanity check on this one. Does this sound any kinds of right to anyone out there:

It is the policy of Spank of America that if you make it to the final bonus round where you get interviewed by a branch manager, and you DON’T get hired, you have to wait 6 months to reapply at ANY branch.

OK, so follow me here. They put Carrie through a half dozen interviews, invested in her background check, gave her the green light all the way through to the final round, and just because there was someone else MORE qualified (which I have serious reservations about), she is banned from trying again for 6 months?

What kind of Kool-Aid you servin’, Spank of America?

So that means if another LESS-QUALIFIED person applies while Carrie is in her 6-month sentence, this lesser being might get a job because there is less competition that what Carrie faced during the final interview?

Wouldn’t it make sense to have Carrie on a list for the next available position rather than spend all the time, money, and effort to vet another potential off the street?

Maybe it’s just me but hey, I’m not the one involved in a financial meltdown this country hasn’t seen since people were selling apples and pencils on the street.

Free Advice for Today: “Remember that a person who is foolish with money is foolish in other ways too.”

Quote of the Day: “Dealing with network executives is like being nibbled to death by ducks.”

Based on the reactions from yesterday’s post, it seems some of you think that my vomit-fest was alcohol induced. And this may be in the category of “ye doth protest too much” but let me announce that it wasn’t, it was a bug. I know this because while I woke up with a wicked hangover, I was not nauseous for most of the day. Add that to the fact that my family suffered similar symptoms to varying degrees.

If it was alcohol, I would tell you. Hell, I would brag about it! Those of you that read this blog, you know I am not shy about detailing my idiotic tendencies and getting throwing-up drunk falls in that category.

It used to be: drunk Friday, good to go Saturday morning. Then as time marched on, it took longer and longer on Saturday to recover. Then even more time passed and it started bleeding over to Sunday. Now, it’s not even worth it to blow 2+ days on a binge. I got better things to do with my time which is anything but fighting poison voluntarily introduced into my system.

OK, now that we got that straight, the rest of the day was pretty obvious: lay around and continue to recover (from the BUG!), pack up from the cabin, and wander home for some more sitting around.

Come to think of it, it sounds a lot like the drinking. I guess you’ll just have to take my word on it.

Free Advice for Today: “Don’t interrupt.”

Quote of the Day: “Time sneaks up on you like a windshield on a bug.”

I was a caveman in many respects today.

First, the sun woke me up. None of this alarm crap nor the “I’m on a mini-vacation without kids or a schedule so I can sleep until I naturally wake up” tomfoolery.

Nope, with a dozen rooms to choose from in Cabinasaurus, we end up in the one where there is a huge bay window pointed straight up to where the sun rises and bathes us with the first hints of sunlight for the day. And by “bathe” I mean “scorches.”

Second, it wouldn’t have been so bad if I wouldn’t have stayed up until 4:00 AM playing old man Rummy and drinking like I was in my mid-twenties.

So the hangover made me a caveman too, reducing me to grunts and the desire to beat something with a club.

I did the obvious thing: I got up before everyone else and took a walk out on the beach of the lake. There was all this beautiful fog on the lake which gave the whole environment a spooky, ethereal feel.

It almost took away my numbing hangover and my desire to pound a hammer in my head to divert the pain.

Almost.

When everyone else got up, we made breakfast. OK, they made breakfast but I helped a little. Well, I ate it.

Let’s see, we are in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. The lake is too cold to swim. I am too hungover and tired to hike. Drinking is out of the question. What is there to do?

We went for the obvious: watch about 8 hours of MTV’s One Hit Wonders Where Are They Now.

Of course.

Duh!

We all had some good laughs and learned a lot. Many were dead. Others were nobody’s (which, secretly, did my black little heart good to see them so cocky and idiotic in the eighties and to see it come back on them), and some where strangely normal with grown kids. Funny how time does that to a person, one hit wonder or no.

Maybe it was that evil little satisfaction or maybe it was something in what I ate I don’t know but toward the end of the day, I started feeling not-so-hot. Then it turned to a little nauseous. They a lot nauseous.

Before I knew it, my gut was rock hard (and not in the good, six pack way) and I was upstairs in the fetal position (not in the good way but really, folks, is there a GOOD way to be in the fetal position?)

I thought I could wait it out and the negotiations started to degrade thusly:

“OK, I’ll lay here until I feel better.”
“OK, I’ll try to get some sleep and it will go away.”
“OK, I will feel better if I throw up, even though I hate it.”
“OK, it’s not ‘if’ but ‘when’ I’m gonna blow.”

When the mouth-watering started, I decided it was time. Isn’t it funny that you really don’t ever think it will get to vomiting and when it comes, it’s like a total shock.

“What is THAT? I NEVER throw up.”

I love the “I hate throwing up” line because show me someone who likes it. But it’s like every person thinks their bout with spewing are quantum levels worse than anyone elses.

“This is the worst moment of my life!!!!….”

It was the worst moment of my life.

Anyway, yeah, there I was, in the upstairs bathroom, literally hugging the bowl and puking my guts out. It came again and again; my neck cords standing out and the echoes of my guttural wretches amplified and reaching every corner of the cabin, to include the living room where everyone else was trying to watch TV.

After a few hours of this blissful fun, my wife informs me that everyone wants to go out to dinner.

Sounds like a stellar idea to me, just let me wipe off the vomitus from my lips and make sure all my toenails are safely in the commode.

At this point, I thought I had successfully rid my system of whatever offending material made me sick, along with most of my stomach lining, and was therefore, OK to make the trek out to the nearest city.

I took a shower, got dressed, and hopped in the car with everyone. I saw it as a challenge because I was dizzy and felt weak. But I would gut it out and not be the wet blanket. I feel fine…

The “I feel fine” feeling lasted about 14 seconds.

Now don’t think that I puked in the car because I didn’t. That would be gross. But for the ½ hour ride, I felt like I had been drugged. I swooned and pretty much hated life.

By the time we got to the little town, there wasn’t much but we found a pizza joint that, come to find out, just opened. We got a table but I excused myself and thought the cool air would do me some good since I still felt a bit woozy.

By the time I got to the back of the little strip mall, that “woozy” feeling turning into something a lot worse. I quickly found a space behind the dipsy dumpster and the chain link fence blocking off the highway where I proceeded to continue my vomiting follies.

With my fingers clenched in the fence, bent at a 90 degree angle, I let loose with another round of “Let’s see what Jason keeps in his body cavity.”

It was a banner night, folks.

An open comment to whomever had to discover my little deposit the next day, sorry. And if it’s the pizza joint folks, I know it’s not exactly high marks for your food but for what it’s worth, it wasn’t a critical statement of your establishment.

After awhile, I made my way back to the restaurant in time to sit there and hate life. I didn’t touch the food Carrie ordered me and sat there wondering how many milliseconds before we get in the car and head back to the cabin.

Once we did, I headed straight up to the bed and laid there with my head spinning until I fell asleep.

Yes folks, I’ll just wait for the invites to roll in because as you can see, I’m just the life of the party at a weekend cabin.

But on the good side, hey, mouth enema.

Free Advice for Today: “Allow your children to face the consequences of their actions.”

Quote of the Day: “The greatest use of life is to spend it for something that will outlast it.”

I have something to be proud of.

You see, with some upcoming races I’ve already paid for, I thought I had better get some actual running in so as not to fall into a puddle of my own vomit, feces, and urine, crying in the fetal position at mile 1 of the race.

That’s never sexy. Take my word for it.

I have been pretty good about getting a few short runs in lately but today I decided a ten-miler was in order and just to head off the “so what, big effin’ deal” comments, let me add that I am going away for the weekend so it would be very easy to say, “Hey, it’s Friday, I have a long drive later, I need to get things ready, yadda yadda yadda..”

I say “yadda, yadda, yadda” a lot.

But I thought, “Dammit, I need to get this running thing under control and get some miles” so I headed to the Valley.

Maple Valley, that is.

OK, not Maple Valley proper, more like under the bridge (go ahead and hum the Red Hot Chili Peppers song, I know you want to…) by I-405 that leads TO Maple Valley and the trail, called the Cedar River Trail, actually runs along Maple Valley Highway.

Wow, that is just a big chunk of “So what,” don’t you think?

I parked Truckasaurus and headed to the porta-potty by the dog park to get some relief before I started my 10 miler, 5 miles out and then back. I had used Google Maps to measure out the five miles, eyeballed the turnaround spot, and headed out.

When you have a good run, at some point you say, “Wow, I’m at the 5-mile mark already…”

When you have a run like today, it’s more like “Where is that @#^%%^ turnaround point? And why am I walking …. AGAIN?!”

OK, so it wasn’t the most fantastic run but it the great thing about out and back, as I’ve said so many times before, is that if you get out, then you must get back so the quitting part kind of takes care of itself once you hit halfway.

I got done, got home, and helped pack up for our weekend with my brother-in-law at a cabin. And I define “help pack” as “Honey, did you pack my underwear?” and the like. My strategy is simple: if something is forgotten, it’s her fault. But I think after 22 years, she is on to my little scheme.

The cabin was this monstrous structure by Lake Kachess near Cle Elum, Washington.

My brother-in-law had done some work for the owner and we got the whole place to ourselves for the weekend. We didn’t bother to bring the kids because, truth be told, we don’t care about them very much.

The grand tour is on video, thanks to my iPhone.

We got to the cabin after a couple of hours of driving and unpacked what seemed like food and booze. What else do you need for a weekend at a cabin?

It kind of felt like The Shining because it was this huge cabin and there were only two couples. But I was happy about it, see…

Most of the rooms were unused and when those two little twin girls stood in the hallway and asked me to play with them for ever and ever and ever, well, I am not ashamed to say I ran away screaming while feces flew out of my ass.

OK, sorry, I’m prone to exaggeration. I didn’t really scream. It was kind of a muted whimper.

After getting unpacked, (after Carrie unpacked) we all settled down for some eats and started drinking and playing cards.

Although I grew up playing a lot of games with my family, for some reason, I am not a game player, per say. In fact, I normally abstain while others (Carrie, the kids, Buster) enjoy card games until the wee hours of the morning.

But tonight was different. I guess being stuck out in the middle of the woods in a cabin by a lake, you have to keep yourself busy with something to stave off the desire to chop everyone up with an ax.

They taught me to play Rummy. I think it was Rummy. I can’t remember but it was one of those old-timey games that I never thought I’d be playing until I was wheeled into the “Sun Room” of the retirement home with dried tapioca drying on the corner of my mouth.

Turns out I’m kind of good at it. In short order, I was kicking the shit out of everyone … ok, maybe the alcohol clouded my memory but of a couple things, I can definitely remember:

1. We played cards until 4:00 AM
2. We drank booze the entire night
3. We laughed and were obnoxiously loud

So with the sun coming up, I lumbered to my designated bed and chalked up the night as a success even though it was spent playing an old peoples’ game and staying up all night like some kind of idiot.

I wonder if I will pay for it tomorrow….

Free Advice for Today: “Slow down. I mean really slow down in school zones.”

Quote of the Day: “Life does not cease to be funny when people die any more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh.”

Today, ladies and gentlereaders, is an auspicious day, indeed. For today marks the 22nd anniversary that Mrs. Viper offered her hand in marriage and was thusly rewarded with 22 years to date of tomfoolery and long-suffering patience-testing.

On this day in 1988, a skinny 19-year-old Lance Corporal in his Marine Corps Service Alphas wed an 18-year-old beauty in her white prom dress at the Justice of the Peace. The service was performed by the judge, fresh off of the golf course (and late) in front of the traffic diorama for court cases.

In attendance was my mother, her husband (my step-father who I didn’t like and the feeling was mutual), and a handful of Marines. One showed up in Dress Blues, which I have mixed feelings about because I hardly knew him and it was nice of him but why did he have to have a better uniform than the groom?

My best man was my best friend at the time, an extremely tall Marine named Morgan. He was a black man and with his height and startling features, looked like he was straight out of an African tribe. Unfortunately I have lost touch with him.

My biggest mistake of the day was that I didn’t have flowers. I had been dating Carrie since February of 1987 when we met in high school and she flew out to where I was training in Memphis Tennessee to marry me. It was all a bit rushed and no one (me) thought of flowers until it was too late.

Before you think too poorly of me, consider we renewed our vows when I was commissioned in 1997 and had a full blown ceremony in the church with all our family in attendance.

And we had plenty of flowers.

Tonight, as in past years’ anniversaries, we headed to the Olive Garden and stuffed ourselves silly. I got my glass of Principato Rosato and, of course, the Tour of Italy which filled me like the stuffed pig that I am.

Later, as is tradition with the 22nd anniversary, we saw a movie about people being fired. OK, maybe that isn’t tradition but I get points for a dinner and a movie!

I actually enjoyed this movie, despite having to watch George Cloony for a couple of hours. Since I have a y-chromosome, his charms were lost on me but I will give him credit for putting the salt-and-pepper look into play these days.

So there you have it, 22 years of marital bliss and I have somehow not pissed her off enough to send me packing which I will mark in the “win” column.

Happy anniversary, Babe!

Free Advice for Today: “Never open the refrigerator door when you’re bored.”

Quote of the Day: “The very first law in advertising is to avoid the concrete promise and cultivate the delightfully vague.”

I got a call today from my good friend Paul who works at Microsoft. He told me about a friend of his that owned a company and was looking for a project manager.

Cool, because I’m, well, kinda still out of work and stuff like a job, money, and a purpose would be cool beans about now.

So I got to work right away. I went right to the computer and did an intel research that would make the CIA and FBI say “Whoa, Dude, calm down. The CEO’s underwear color preference is not a deal-maker or breaker here.”

I played the net like a violin, looking up the company and scouring every detail about the company. I committed to memory every detail available on the net. I even looked into the CEOs net presence, found out his hobbies, likes, dislikes, and researched those.

I read up on his favorite authors. I looked into his former companies and constructed a timeline of what he has been doing personally and professionally for the last decade.

Yes, I was cyberstalking but I prefer to call it “due diligence research.”

That was my night. Research, research, research.

My breaks were going over my own resume and practicing the list of answers I’ve written down for the most common questions asked during an interview.

I am not kidding, every time I see an article that says “10 Hardest Interview Questions” or “100 Most Common Interview Questions,” I copy it, paste it into a Word file I created, and answer them one by one. Then I read that over and over and over.

As I find more lists, I paste those in and answer them.

Then read, re-read, and re-re-read until I am sick of the subject of “me”!

My only hurdle now is to avoid sounding too practiced. I’ve always been a good presenter so I am not too worried about that and just the mechanics of hearing a question and answering should set me up to ad-lib any oddball question that might slip through my net.

“So, what is your name?”

“Phlegerpuss… shit.”

I have nightmares about such scenarios.

Free Advice for Today: “Never threaten if you don’t intend to back it up.”

Quote of the Day: “Forgive your enemies, but never forget their names.”

Yesterday was 5 miles on the dreadmill so today I thought I would up the ante to ten miles outside.

For the first time, I parked near the dogpark near my house, parking under the 405 bridge and running on the Cedar Trail. I had used Google maps to see where the 5 mile turnaround was. I really love the fact that I can get the satellite view and measure exactly 5 miles, finding the exact point I want to run to.

I made it out there and lingered at the turnaround point because I was, you know, exhausted. But what got me through was the thing I like most about out-and-back runs: you have to get back. No giving up if you want to get to your vehicle so about an hour later, I came lopping in, glad to see my magic carpet that would get me home. (Probably a bad sign that I saw my vehicle as a carpet.)

This is a busy week with my Veteran’s benefits. Today, I had an appointment with my VA representative.

If you recall, I had missed the last one and like these things work, it took weeks to get another appointment.

I had received some paperwork from the VA and they offered something called expedited service.

OK, now this really pisses me off. Here, in my opinion is what they are saying…

“Look, we are the VA. We take forever just to decide to wipe our own ass so your paperwork will be stuck in bureaucratic Hades until sometime around Stardate 28666. But, if you are willing to give up many of your appeal rights after we bend you over shotgun style, we will rush it through. This way we can cornhole you quicker and you will have no rights to appeal our unfair decision.”

What they are saying is that they have the ABILITY to process faster but won’t unless you forgo some of your rights.

Needless to say, I didn’t take them up on their offer and my VA rep reinforced my view of this “Great Deal.” She told me is was universally considered a rogering for the veterans.

We filled out a few more pieces of paper that I’m almost sure I had filled out before and I was once again assured that my claim was in the system and it would be no time before I get some kind of response back from the VA.

And by “some kind of response”, I am pretty sure that it will be the monthly letter that apologizes for taking so long but that my claim is being processed.

Yeah. The fact that it is a boilerplate form letter does not give me warm and fuzzies. Neither does telling them where they can stick their expedited service agreement.

I might need glasses by the time this gets resolved. Bifocals.

“Oh, you’ll have to put in a claim for us to cover that.”

Aaaaaaand, scene.

Free Advice for Today: “Don’t cut corners.”

Quote of the Day: “I have not lost my mind – it’s backed up on disk somewhere.”

Today, I decided I had better start getting some miles in so I revisted my old friend, the 5-mile run on the treadmill.

You know what is worse than 5 miles on a dreadmill?

Not much.

OK, don’t flood me with things like “Not having legs” for God’s sake. Let me bitch at will, thank you very much.

So after 5 miles, I think I would have chosen death behind door #1, Chuck. I was wet from head to toe and was making sounds I would rather not admit to. It just never gets easier.

After I was done and suitably depressed that 5 miles kicked me around like a little bitch, I got cleaned up and went to my next medical appointment.

This one was a doosy.

I got to the full body, stand there in your underwear and feel like an idiot, treatment. It shouldn’t have been a shock but I really don’t feel all that good about my body these days. I have let the retirement pounds creep in and as indicated by the 5-mile ass stomping I just took, my fitness is nowhere near where I want it to be.

As though the whole nude fashion show was not demeaning enough, the doctor punctuated the exam with the dreaded “You will feel a little pressure….”

Yes, folks, the doctor felt the need to go where no one has gone before.

And as an added little bonus, the doctor was a “she” (why does it ALWAYS have to be a she?)

Oh, and we are not done. Because she was a she, it was against the law to be alone when doing such a procedure so she had to go get a nurse.

As though it wasn’t bad enough that I was getting knuckle-deep treatment from a woman I just met but now, her friend was required by law to join in the fun so instead of one women witnessing my emasculation, there were TWO.

Would it be too much to ask that they don’t talk about the episode of Lost that they watched last night? I guess so.

After it was done, the doctor pointed toward a box of tissues and told me a could clean up, get dressed, and leave.

Man, did that suck.

There I was with a rather uncomfortable slimy feeling but I was being dismissed after getting violated.

Walking out of that office was so much like a walk of shame. I was still more lubricated than I was comfortable with and I felt like a victim walking out of the office.

“Oh, Mr. Grose?”

What the …. I just wanted to slime out with my shame ….

“Here is your mileage check.”

It seems that since the office is more than 10 miles from my house, I get reimbursed for my gas.

So just in case you missed it, I had just got anally probed by one woman as another watched, I was dismissed, and now was being slid $10 on the way out.

I have never felt more like a whore.

Free Advice for Today: “Learn the rules. Then break some.”