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Shoe on other foot
#16
Uh...G, you can always say "sorry, but I'm kinda busy, so I think I'll just pass on this little CRUISE OF INSANITY!!!!"

Stay home and have a better time than all of them combined.

Dr. Ivor Yeti,
PPFY
In the Tudor Period, Fencing Masters were classified in the Vagrancy Laws along with Actors, Gypsys, Vagabonds, Sturdy Rogues, and the owners of performing bears.
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#17
Tried that. it was the 50th anniversary guilt card. They even invited the Queen. Her use of the lame "I'm working" excuse worked for her. Not so much for me. I guess being fired from job is trumped by cruise with family.
So much for the flickr badge idea. Dammit
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#18
Have you considered suicide? Life isn't for everyone, you know...Hard to argue with "sorry, love to, but I'm dead and you all drove me to it."
In the Tudor Period, Fencing Masters were classified in the Vagrancy Laws along with Actors, Gypsys, Vagabonds, Sturdy Rogues, and the owners of performing bears.
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#19
But then who would walk the puppies? I can hold my breath for a week, right?
So much for the flickr badge idea. Dammit
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#20
AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!

Not as much fun as website but I've been busy coping.
So much for the flickr badge idea. Dammit
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#21
Your note says I'm supposed to pick you up from the airport on August 12 and it also says See you Sunday. August 12 is a Saturday. Am I picking you up on Saturday or Sunday???
Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes.
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#22
Well, good luck with that, Q. Actually, if he flies in Saturday, you may still want to pick him up Sunday. A day at the airport might be just the rest he needs after the cruise.

Just trying to help.
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#23
... he could stand around and help the TSA confiscate liquids and gels and creams.

But the dogs would be very unhappy. And after all, their happiness is what counts.
Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes.
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#24
So, the father, the diabetic with high blood pressure and that disease or fungus that attacks the toenails. Something in his High blood pressure makes him unable to take the pill to cure the foot thing.

We are sitting at lunch in the Windjammer buffet. Dad now sports Berkenstocks whenever he can because shoes cut off the circulation to his feet. I notice his legs up to the calf are a lovely shade of deep purple. I ask him about it in an alarmed sort of way. He's just says oh. Yeah, it happens.

The purple is a color a punk chick would be happy to die her hair. All I can think is this probably the stage right before amputation. Grrrr.
So much for the flickr badge idea. Dammit
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#25
My sister held my father hostage to medicinal ministration by not giving him the remote on Sunday. His leg was bright red and hot to the touch. The cut on his foot had become inflamed. My father thought the tempature and bright color were a sign of good circulation. My sister took him to the hospital.

My father's primary physician must live in the same delusional realm as my father, because he thought the foot was A-Okay. The podiatrist they also visited checked my father into the hospital. At 6pm Wednesday they commenced to chopping. Originally it was just going to be the tip of the toe next to the big toe. But when my mother called and I asked how much they were going to take, she explained that they were going to keep cutting until there wasn't any infection. He could lose the entire toe at this stage.

Stupid Father. He's such a man about seeing doctors.
So much for the flickr badge idea. Dammit
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#26
He is lucky he didn't lose his foot. My uncle, also diabetic, ended up losing both legs. Granted, he was playing Texas Hold 'Em with The Queen, but nonetheless...

I hope he recovers quickly. Will he follow the doctor's orders and will he get a new GP (since the current one was content to let him limp home with a necrotic toe)?
In the Tudor Period, Fencing Masters were classified in the Vagrancy Laws along with Actors, Gypsys, Vagabonds, Sturdy Rogues, and the owners of performing bears.
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#27
I remember we had this one street person in for a Dead show at Shoreline complaining about his foot and when he took off his shoe - MY GOD THE STENCH - it was of a Lovecraftian magnitude, undescribable, unmentionable, primordial. That's the closest I've ever gotten to a rotten foot. Nasty.

Then there was this time I had been on Dead tour for too long of a spell and there was this weird itchy growth between my toes. I was trying to deny it until I got off tour. When I finally took that shower - that ecstatic after tour shower - it came clean off in the wash. Turned out it was just a hardened chunk of toe jam.

Yeah, Dead tour. It was hard on the feet. But that surely wasn't your Dad's issue, Greg. How's he doing with it?
Shadow boxing the apocalypse
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#28
I took off a couple of weeks at the end of July to move in with Greg and we had that lovely sewage issue.

I take a week off to go to the Kedding, it rains the whole time and I get a miserable cold that still hasn't completely gone away.

I took a few days off to see my mom and stepdad for Thanksgiving. We went to play golf on Monday. On the 14th hole, Mom gets hit in the head with a golf ball. Lots and lots of blood. 9-1-1. Ambulance, stretchers. 2-minute seizure. Emergency room fun. Very good news is that Mom's fine now, CT scan is normal, no cracked skull, no bruised or bleeding brain, just a big goose egg, five stitches and a mild concussion.

But I think I'm through with vacations for this year. They just don't work out well.
Before you criticize someone, walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes.
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#29
where in the head did she get hit? how long was ambulance response time?
Shadow boxing the apocalypse
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#30
Was this a tee-off hit?
I'm no expert on golf, only played it a couple times.
But this doesn't sound like a golfball falling from the heavens.
That would hurt, of course. I'm not saying it wouldn't.
But blood, stitches, concussion -- wow. Sounds like a tee-off.
I'm nobody's pony.
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