Jesus Saves

You see it.

You hear it.

It's a phrase that even those who deny any and all religions as truth are familiar with:

Jesus Saves.

In case you couldn't already tell, I'm sort of a cynical thinker. Actually, not 'sort of'...blatantly. Well anyway, I was on the road on my way home from work one of these days when along came a 67-passenger church van with some super generic church title pasted on either side. You know the ones:

Our Redeemer Lutheran

Everlasting Peace Baptist

Saint John the Baptist Evangelical

The True Path Non-Denominational Church.

He Rose Again Seventh Day Adventist

Before I get to the real meat and potatoes (or the loaves and the fishes, for you Bible buffs) of my ramblings, I do want to point out the particular ironies in the church names I just made up (because YES it is that easy). The first two, Our Redeemer and Everlasting Peace I'll mention later on, for their irony is not yet relevant. Saint John the Baptist...well nowadays if you say you're a Baptist, you're not an Evangelical. Sort of like how Lutherans do zero teachings of saints and sainthood in general (go ahead...ask a Catholic), yet they have no problem naming a church after one because they lacked any cleverness. I know this because that's what I was raised to learn. Saint John was a religious prophet that performed many baptisms, and I am well aware that doesn't mean he's actually a Baptist by religion. If you're butt-hurt already, I suggest you exit stage right (Mac users, stage left) immediately. The True Path Non-Denominational is one I feel especially proud of. The simple irony here is that if there was a "true path" that would make it pretty easy to distinguish one denomination from the rest. Honestly though, non-denominational churches are the new euphemism for 'cult'. That's the greatest cop-out in the history of cop-outs. "Well we want to have a church to celebrate our Lord," (because not capitalizing 'Lord' would make me a heathen), "but we want our congregation to feel free to have their choice of beliefs while we teach them the way we look at it." Yea, that makes no sense, folks. These people are not pastors, priests, ministers...whatever. They are motivational speakers with a lot of money and no souls. The very fact that some of you are convinced they are more than that only confirms they are closer to being cult leaders than men of faith. All I'm going to suggest is please don't attend the Eternal Kool-Aid Lock-In they have planned for next weekend. Just sayin'. Finally, there's the He Rose Again Seventh Day Adventist church. This one is simple..."on the third day, he rose again." That is in black and white in that coveted book you love so much. Why worship the seventh day? Also according to that book, didn't God rest on the seventh day? You're making these people attend church on the day that the Bible says we should be sitting on our ever-so-fat asses at home so we can watch the game? Doesn't sound legitimate to me. My ultimate pleasure would be to find out that one of these church names is actually taken, and I would love to challenge the leader of said organization to defend their reasoning. I do enjoy a good debate.

Alright, so let's get back to the plot. "Jesus Saves." My cynicism begs to ask the question, "What does he save exactly?" All of these establishments would love for you to believe it is you he is saving. 

(Editor's note: if you aren't butt-hurt yet, but still have a feeling there is potential for you to get to that point, I strongly urge you to stop reading here. It's not going to get any more pleasant for you. Thank you for at least reading this far, and please check back for any non-religious-driven posts.)

Phew...they're gone. Thank God...oh wait...

Back to this saving concept. We are taught from the time we have any recollection from our youth that Jesus was God's earthly son who was crucified to save us from our sins. What I want to know is how is it that nailing a human being to a giant wooden cross suddenly saves everyone else in existence and future existence from all wrongdoing? So you're telling me that Ariel Castro is immediately forgiven because of Jesus' death, even after all that he did to those three innocent women in Cleveland? You're saying that James DiMaggio gets a free pass after murdering a mother and brother of a young girl he kidnapped because of his sick obsession, all because some guy died on a cross almost 2,000 years ago? Only if they repent, you say? Well that seems pretty fair, I suppose. All of these felonious individuals who suddenly "find God" after committing some of the most heinous acts are forgiven by that literal definition. What's that? Oh, they have to truly mean it too?! I guess that narrows the playing field a little, but the ultimate fact here is that millions of people believe this based purely on blind faith. I'd say that's the truest form of faith in all fairness, but you can never know without a shadow of a doubt that Jesus was anything more than a prophet or a religious figurehead to give everyone else a high standard to live up to. That's not a negative thing by any stretch of the imagination, but anything beyond that is pretty difficult to accept as truth.

So let's say that hypothetically the whole "forgiveness of sins" and "saving your soul" thing is a wash. I would never argue that Jesus still doesn't save anything. If you don't know where I'm going with this by now, well then you may be one of the contributors to the largest business in existence. That business is the Bank...wait...Church of God. Jesus does save...your hard-earned money. Think about it, folks...no, really...really think about it. Where do those offerings go? I attended the same church growing up for over twenty years, then assisted with a youth group at another church for a few more, and neither church seemed to show any sign of structural improvement, at least none that directly benefitted the congregation. There were more glamorous statues and decor added to make the altar more aesthetically pleasing, but that's about all. Seriously, God could wipe his all-powerful, omnipresent butt with Bill Gates' bank statement. Luckily for the clergy, each one of them gets access to this holy account. All of them have a debit card linked to the Unlimited Salvation Savings Account...and it's all tax free! What a deal! You don't believe me? Have you seen the typical residency of a pastor, priest or some other religious figure? Humble is hardly the word I would use, especially in the cases of these non-denominational factories of deception. For example, in Virginia, one of these (cult) leaders flew to his church in his own personal helicopter every Sunday. It was only after nearby residents complained of the noise it created that he stopped doing that. Yea...way to "...humble yourselves before the Lord..." (James 4:10). Represented below is the actual logo of the Vatican Bank. Holy credit!

Remember those ironic church names I mentioned earlier? Let's touch on those for a moment. "Our Redeemer Lutheran." Oh yea, they redeem alright. They redeem your checks almost as soon as you hand it to them. Hell, you might as well just direct debit into that Unlimited Salvation account I was telling you about. Cut the middle man out. Actually, scratch that. The middle man is the church, comfortably seated right between you and your faith. You're actually feeding the middle man and allowing him to grow. It gets pretty uncomfortable when you have a fat middle man. Just imagine three seats on an airplane:

1. You have the window seat.
2. Fat middle man known as the church.
3. Your faith is in the aisle seat.

Wouldn't you like the freedom to just have that extra space by the aisle? Well too bad, because you're crammed into the fingerprint-smeared hazy window seat and Mr. Middle Man didn't put any deodorant on. You don't feel so great anymore, do you? It stinks, I know. Literally. These people represent The Church of Holy Cow.

How about "Everlasting Peace Baptist"? This one requires a little play-on-words in order to have the full effect of irony. It's either that or they literally misspelled one word: peace. It should be piece. "Everlasting Piece" makes more sense, really. Why's that? Well they have an everlasting piece of your paycheck each week. Go ahead and act like I'm lying. In fact, most churches not only keep track of the exact dollar amount they receive every week, but they are even so bold as to brag about it in the bulletin. They will gladly throw it in your face that they just raised over $30,000 in offerings, but they sure as shit aren't going to tell you where that money is going. Pastor Moneybags needs a new kitchen and wants to build an extension to the back of his house to entertain guests. I guess that would be a little too much information to share to the people that are paying for it. Father Falsehopes wants to upgrade from his Infiniti to a Mercedes, and you're going to make it happen, although you won't find out until he pulls into his designated parking spot. He won't thank you for your contribution either, since he is too ashamed to clue you in on who actually paid for it. The fact of the matter is as long as you keep showing up, his bills and luxuries will continue to be paid for.

Please understand that I've been a little jaded by churches because of how I have been personally effected by them in the past, so even though it may seem like pure bitterness in this entry, but I assure you that this was intended to entertain you and make you think a little. If you read through all this and find yourself livid, upset or personally insulted...you didn't heed my warnings. That's right...plural...warnings.

Looking back on my life, with all of my experiences and research on a topic of this nature, I'm beginning to think I went into the wrong business. Why be a blue collar worker when you can make the big bucks wearing a fancy little white one? Hindsight is 20/20 they say. Oh well.

D.

...and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.

Today, I am on my way to a meeting for work two hours or more away from my everyday workplace. A few coworkers and I are carpooling in a minivan...a minivan that has the odor of spoiled milk and children unfamiliar with the concept of a bath. Right now seems like the perfect time to utilize the blogging app on my phone. I have a lot of time to kill and I am hoping it will help me ignore the foul stench of misbehaved adolescents. Probably not, but a man can hope. It's either that or I listen to these guys talk about food. I love food, don't get me wrong...it's just not something I can discuss for two hours while maintaining my sanity. Listening to my iPod is also helping, so I think I'll survive.

These men represent America so well.

So before I tell everyone this story, I'd like to preface it by saying that when it comes to gifts, I have been, am and always will be appreciative of everything I am given, no matter the size or cost. I truly value the thought behind each gift more than anything else. Now this may sound contradictory, but I also believe that it is 'common courtesy' that when somebody does a favor or task for another person, especially one that spans several days and extra attention, that person should be rewarded for their effort. Again, I want to emphasize that it is not owed to the person, but everyone likes to know that their work is appreciated, and one way of doing that is to give something more than a handshake and a thank you. Anytime someone assists me in some way, I always find a way to make it up to them in return, whether it be paying for a lunch or dinner, a case of beer...whatever it may be, AND they will always have the promise from me that I will be glad to help them if and when they need it in the future. I want them to know that I am grateful for their service and I always will be.

Having said that, I'm gonna take you way back...back to when I was an adolescent. I don't recall exactly what age I was - likely in my preteen years - but that's only somewhat relevant to the story. My mom had a friend of hers that worked for an animal hospital/shelter back home in New York and any time they had an overflow of cats at the shelter, she would agree to take them home with her. Some of these cats required special medical attention, so she had no problem taking them in and giving them the necessary care from home. I'll get to the cat head count shortly, so brace yourself. She also had two dogs, both of which only had three legs. I can't make this shit up. This woman and her husband go to the NASCAR race in Daytona every February, and they needed someone to come by twice a day to feed and take care of the animals for a little over a week. The ones that needed medicine were left with pretty simple yet detailed instructions. They asked my mom if I could do it, and I said sure, no problem. That was a bit of a mistake.

So I get to this house, which I had been to before but had only been in the first floor, and I start to do the feeding and litter box changing and whatever other tasks were required to be done. That's when all the cats came out. One after another running down the stairs, coming out of a bedroom, wherever they were hiding. Then I went upstairs to the special room that had all the sick and poorly behaved cats in it. Some of them wouldn't come out from hiding out of fear and some were sick enough that they couldn't come out. Altogether, I estimated there were about forty to forty-five cats in this house. So lets roll with forty...FORTY F'N CATS!! FORTY!! You want to talk about the proverbial cat-lady? This woman was, is and always will be the cat-lady.

It was something along these lines. Plus the two three-legged dogs.

So after the first two visits, I got into a bit of a routine, and what took me about an hour and a half those first couple times took merely thirty to forty-five minutes for the remaining visits. If I remember correctly, they were gone for either eight or nine days. That's eight or nine days of:

• Dry cat food - refilling empty bowls and cleaning the scattered bits
• Wet cat food - old stuff uneaten cleaned out, refilling with new stuff that smells like fishy vomit, adding any liquid medicine where necessary
• Cat litter - scooping what wasn't super full and gross, changing whole litter bags out when they made it a minefield of cat turds
• Cat vomit - the only thing positive here was they had hard wood floors, made for easier cleanup
• Dog maintenance - they were easy...let them out, refilled the food and water, no cleanup indoors (possible result of minimized motivation due to lack of a fourth limb...just sayin')

That's a lot to ask of anyone, let alone a kid. At the time, I didn't mind so much. I do enjoy animals and taking care of them (forty is a bit extreme for me, but I dealt with it), so I did what I had to do.

Hell, the dogs were so easy to handle, if they had four legs,
they'd probably be doing this as well...impressive.

Then they came back from Daytona Beach, and my mom and I went to welcome them home and to return the keys. We dropped in, talked to them for a short time, and then got ready to get up and leave when they handed me a plastic bag. I waited to open it until after we left (part of me felt awkward opening it right in front of them, I don't know...) but made sure to thank them before leaving. Again, I want to emphasize I am always grateful for what is given to me, big or small. That 'thank you' I said to them was sincere, especially since I didn't know what it was until I had already left. Alright...I open the bag (your typical blank plastic shopping bag, either from a gift shop or an airport magazine shop) and I pull out a black t-shirt. Even at this point I'm still anxious to see what was on the shirt, so I open it up and it read "Daytona Beach" in faded yellow/tan.

That's when disappointment sunk in. There wasn't much thought put into what they got me; it felt more like they felt obligated to get something or they forgot until the last day of the trip and grabbed the first shirt they saw. In my mind, I was thinking that I would never half-ass taking care of her pets, whether she had four or forty...doesn't matter. I put honest effort into each step I needed to take to make sure that when I walked out the door, they were all fed and not left with a mountain of poop in their litter boxes. They thought enough to buy me a generic shirt out of what they felt to be an obligation. My only theory is they figured I was so young that I would be happy with any tangible gift and that I didn't understand the value of thoughtfulness.

Yummyyy...

Here are some facts for you to know after hearing this story:

• I still wear the shirt to this day. It no longer has sleeves because I washed it so many times, it began to tear at the pits, but it still exists.
• I still visited their home when my mom went over there and didn't act any differently toward them.
• This became a major reason I always put tons of thought behind each gift I give. I try to get creative and original because I never want to disappoint anyone with a gift I give them.

Some of you may think I'm an ungrateful asshole no matter what because of this story...you're entitled to your opinion. Before that day, this blog's title was simply a phrase to me. Then it became a reality. Come to think of it...if they had gotten me a shirt that said "I went to Daytona Beach and all I got was this lousy t-shirt" and that would have been hysterical to me. Oh well. Maybe you can sympathize. Then perhaps you're an asshole just like me.

At least you're in good company.

D.

Trial & Error Of Human Life

I like to think about the broader spectrum of many subjects. It's always interesting to figure out the origin of certain things, whether they came about on purpose or by accident, and at what cost. By cost, you can argue financial or some other means of value...such as human life. That's right...some things we have, know and understand nowadays came as the result of using humans as test subjects. Obviously there are now laws that prevent this from being a current research method, at least when they're not in a completely controlled atmosphere. Not everything was regulated way back when, though. Even certain controlled experimentation was shady and controversial, but that's not what I'm referring to here. I'll give you a few examples that crossed my mind.

First, poisonous berries growing on various vegetation. Something that crossed my mind is how we came to realize they were poisonous. You have to figure that the earliest of our descendants were willing to give just about anything a try in order to maintain an adequate level of sustenance. In other words, they were looking for ways to survive, by any means necessary. These individuals saw something that was potentially edible, so they figured, "eh...what the hell, why not?" Except it likely sounded more like a series of grunts and clicks, because the English language likely hadn't caught on by then, contrary to whatever Hollywood may portray in certain movies. So they pluck a few berries, pop them in their mouths like skittles, then mysteriously...they get terminally ill and die. How many of them did this before the colony or group of people decided that maybe it wasn't a good idea to be eating these things? Perhaps after Prometheus devoured a handful and passed away only days later, it's possible they thought that Prometheus may have just been a weak link in the clan and that they wouldn't experience the same fate. So they went ahead, had some anyway and died faster than he did. I wonder how many of them died before they definitively decided that they were no good and made it clear to others not to eat them...unless they really really didn't like a certain someone...then they fed them a whole meal of them. It's only logical to assume that several of these curious and hungry souls had to die to figure this out, and to a certain extent, I am personally curious how many. Maybe that's morbid, but hey...you know now not to just eat random berries in the wild. Why? Because they did...and for that you should thank them.

I'm honestly curious if even though they are poisonous, that they are
delicious as well. Only then would I understand why they ate them.

How about shark attacks? If you really think about it, the saying goes, "there's a first time for everything," right? Well there had to be a first shark attack at some point in history. Previous to that one occurrence, I'm guessing people figured there was no harm in bobbing around in the water for whatever reason: cooling off, exercise, fishing, peeing...you get the drill. Then one day, Jimbo goes out into the water to relieve himself and either he came back to shore with two arms, a leg and a nub or he didn't come back at all. If he was alone, this didn't raise a red flag to anyone and it required witnesses during the next occasion for someone to stop aimlessly drifting out into the water. It's possible the first sighting of a shark fin was thought to be a harmless dolphin, and that's only if they knew at that point what dolphins were and that they were in fact harmless. It's entirely possible that they had never seen one from either creature and, once again, curiosity took over rather than fear. They wanted a closer look instead of avoiding an otherwise unknown potential risky situation. Another popular phrase comes to mind here: "Once bitten, twice shy." I highly suspect this was the event of origin for that one. It's interesting to think of how many buffoons suffered an awful fate before the rest of these people decided to be more aware of fins protruding from the water's surface. Clearly it hasn't eliminated these attacks from happening, but that's unrealistic to even consider. All I can say is I remain cautious and aware when I am out I the ocean. I ain't trying to be an hors d'oeuvre for Jaws, you know what I mean?

He clearly didn't hear the "duh-nuh...duh-nuh........duh-nuh duh-nuh"
background noise, otherwise he would have seen this coming.

Ever wonder how they figured out that you shouldn't drink bleach? They do have warnings on the labels so that you know not to ingest it. I highly doubt that they came up with this conclusion without someone first taking a sip and finding out how tragic it can be. Isn't that the main reason they have these warnings on labels in the first place? They wouldn't tell you not to drink it if someone hadn't already made that fatal mistake. The first person...what a jackass. It smells horrible (which is enough for me not to even debate it) and if that person saw what that chemical can do to everyday objects (discolor, disinfect, distort, disintegrate), what makes them think that those effects will not occur inside their body? I could delve further into the humors of warning labels, but that could be for another entry. I think the more interesting thing about these instances I'm mentioning today are that they can't possible be isolated. There is no way possible that only one person has eaten poisonous berries. As we all know, there have been tons of documented shark attacks. So to think that one person was the direct cause for a "Do Not Drink" warning on bleach is illogical. I'm more interested in how many of these morons decided to have a Clorox cocktail and died from it. I don't know that I see it as a total negative, though. They are weeding out some of the weaker elements of the gene pool, so it's not all bad.

Bleach has also been known to cause terrible dye-jobs.
With locks like that, I'd rather drink it, personally.

I'm sure I'll think of more that are worth mentioning, but those are just a few that immediately came to mind. Until then, I'll be headed to the beach, where I'll be drinking Clorox and poison berry smoothies as I ride the waves where some tiger sharks may roam. Sounds fun, right? I thought so too.

D.

Random Reamin' Ramblings

Told ya...random.

I certainly don't have any shortage of random thoughts. Most of you know this by now. The rest of you need to wake up and learn. There really is no order or flow to these thoughts today whatsoever...hence random. My goal is to make you ponder these things for a few moments. Maybe it'll inspire you to delve into your own random thoughts. If not, well...you can leave it to me, something tells me I'll touch on it eventually. Okay, I feel like I'm sort of stalling. Here we go...

• There's a Pepsi commercial I've been seeing a lot lately since the most recent Super Bowl. It stars Beyoncé. It has nothing to do with Pepsi until she takes a sip with a few seconds left in the ad. I could go on and on about how aggravating it is that commercials don't have anything to do with their products anymore, but that's a futile point nowadays. My bigger concern is how easily entertained people can be. I'll get the obvious statement out of the way: Beyoncé is a gorgeous woman, period. In no way do I think that her beauty could have any influence on whether I drink Pepsi or not, though. She can shake her ass, jiggle her jugs and wear minimal amounts of clothing, and it wouldn't even begin to change my preference of soda. The scary part is how many people are easily swayed by things like that. That does prove some guys to be chauvinistic simpletons, but you would think that even their more animalistic, primitive desires would be no factor in what beverage they choose. Pepsi did not create the commercial with any feeling that it wouldn't help their sales in some way, so it's obvious that they are well aware how easily-manipulated the average mind is these days. I guess the main focus of my rant is that those individuals that are convinced by things like this need to start making decisions for themselves based on the characteristics of the product itself and not the half naked millionaire sex symbol who is being paid a load of cash to tell you it's the best. It's bad enough that the majority of her music sucks (which is a whole other opinion that I won't bother to tackle tonight), now we have to tolerate her fifteen to thirty second presence on the commercial interruptions during my television watching so she can act like I give a damn what she thinks of Pepsi. The less I have to see of her, the better. Actually...scratch that. The less I have to hear from her the better. I'm a guy, so seeing her isn't all that bad. If my girlfriend was the one on the commercial instead...I'd be singing a whole different tune. That's when I'd say give me all the Pepsi you've got. Maybe that makes me biased, but what can I say? (Normally, this is where I'd provide a direct link to the video for that commercial...but I don't even care enough to look it up. She isn't worth my time.)
• There's a new feature on Amazon Kindles that enables you to set a time limit on games and reading for your children. I think this idea is not bad, but far from flawless. Let's dig deeper into it, shall we? Kids nowadays don't experience much in the outside world. Everything is so technologically driven, they don't even know what fresh outdoor air is anymore. I'm pretty sure I've discussed this before, but I remember when it was time to socialize and play, I was all but kicked out of the house and told to create my own fun. Video games were one of the least of my concerns unless the weather was crappy and I had nothing else productive I could find to do. Now that the Kindle is much more than just an electronic reading device, Amazon felt that they had to come up with a way to prevent it from simply becoming another gaming device for kids. So the ad shows a kid playing some "educational" game and...uh oh...time expires. I'm sure that kid is thinking, "Oh no! Oh well, I guess I'll go outside and play now!" Yep...that's got to be it. Actually, it's more like, "Oh no! Oh well, I guess I'll go start up my X-Box instead!" Is the company really that naive or is it more the parents that think these kids will be instantly forced to get some exercise? If they're that eager to play video games, they'll find some to play. A little timer isn't going to stop them. Hell, sometimes a parent telling them not to do it doesn't even stop them. Again, I applaud Amazon for their ingenuity, but kids will be kids and that's a very minor roadblock to them. Some kids are so technologically savvy that they'll know where and how to cut the timer off entirely, defeating the purpose altogether. I still think with this issue, our society needs to think a little more outside the box...the X-Box.
• Pharmaceuticals scare me. It's pretty ridiculous how many medicines are out there in the first place, but then you have to consider all of the side effects of each one. Let's get the obvious fear out of the way: some of these side effects could lead to heart attack, stroke and other means of death. First it makes you wonder what sort of lethal chemicals are even involved in these pills and potions that could cause you to no longer exist. Then you have to think about how weak some peoples' immune systems are that they can't even fend off the negative effects of these medicines. Furthermore, I theorize that the excessive use of other pharmaceuticals may even weaken these peoples' immune systems when it comes time to use the most recent one they've been prescribed. If you don't think that's bad enough, the likelihood of the the development of a more obscure condition increases with certain medicines. Examples: treatments for low testosterone can lead to breast cancer in males and treatments for rheumatoid arthritis can increase your chances of contracting tuberculosis. Male breast cancer is far from common and tuberculosis is not exactly an illness that is frequently diagnosed in the US thanks to the vaccinations we receive when we are young. Let's put it this way...I'm pretty sure I can find other ways of dealing with a little reduced testosterone and some sore joints so I don't develop crap like that. You can take your chances if you'd like. I like my man breasts cancer free, thank you very much. This is all comparable to taking a cough syrup that makes you more susceptible to the Ebola Virus. Is it worth the risk? I think not.

Meh.

Pfft.

No thanks. I'd rather not contract Super-AIDS or be the
first person in decades to have smallpox because of a pill.

That's about all for today. On a side note, today is Memorial Day. Take time to concern yourselves a little less with the barbecue and pool party you may be at and thank the men and women that have served to make it possible for you to enjoy that freedom. There's a reason we proudly hang flags and celebrate what those soldiers have done for us, and it has nothing to do with ribs, burgers and hot dogs. Just remember that.

Thank you to all who have served. God Bless America.

D.

Cloudy Pee, Cloudy Mind

Yup...actually, not really.

Been a while, I know. So sue me...

...actually don't, I'm poor.

So a lot has taken place over the last few months. I'm dating a beautiful woman with an awesome daughter, and although it's a long distance arrangement for the time being, things are going very well. This plays a key role in this story. I've driven up to Maryland several times to visit my lovely lady and her family, and I was up there again this past weekend. She left for work, and after a quick visit to her at her job, I made my way back down south. After a brief stop in Virginia Beach to meet up with some old coworkers, I was back on the road and making great time. I crossed into North Carolina and that's when things got...fuzzy.

I was feeling a little dizzy and my vision was getting a little cloudy (which felt like dry contacts more than anything), but I was chalking that up to being tired or just needing some more water. So I stopped for gas, relaxed for fifteen to twenty minutes, chugged some water, then continued on my journey. I felt a little better after my rest, but as I drove farther along, it quickly got worse. My vision wasn't getting any better and after a couple of phone calls to my girlfriend, I was having a very tough time verbalizing my thoughts. I thought it would be best to pull over and call for an ambulance. So the paramedics start asking me tons of questions, which is where it becomes tough to explain what exactly was going through my head at the time.

They asked me my name, and I was able to slowly tell them that. Then they asked me my birthdate, and  again the delivery wasn't quick, but I was able to get it out. Here are some examples of questions I couldn't give them answers to:

• What's your mother's name?
• Where do you live?
• Where were you coming from today?
• Do you know where you are now?

They also asked if I was on any medications or took any drugs, both of which were definitely a 'no'. They had a hard time believing me because of my "altered mental status" but there's never a chance in hell I'd risk my health on an idiotic addiction. 

Think about this for a moment though...I remember now the questions that I couldn't answer then. Is that not weird? It's not like the paramedics came back to my hospital room and told me all the things that happened when I was as incoherent as I was. I remember everything I was awake for, but can not explain why I couldn't give them the answers to their questions. That's why I don't say I "forgot" the answers, but rather had a mental block from my thoughts to my words. I knew the answers...I just couldn't spit them out. It was easily one of the worst experiences of my life, and I hope nothing like that ever happens to me again. I'll get back to the diagnosis in a bit.

So I get to the hospital and they have a packed house. Considering it was a hospital in that halfway point between I-95 and the middle of nowhere, it was rather surprising how busy the emergency room was. From the time that I arrived to the time I was given fluids and had a blood/urine sample taken, somewhere between two and three hours had passed. That was a long time to be dizzy, disoriented and becoming more and more nauseous. After taking the samples, they came back with medicine and all they told me was that it would likely put me to sleep very soon, but they didn't tell me what it was for.

Here's where I'll skip the disgusting details and just say that after getting sick multiple times, they ended up admitting me into a room because they had more tests to administer. Shortly after being brought into my room, I was then told that both my girlfriend with a coworker and my mom and stepdad were on their way to see me. It wasn't until the early morning that everyone had arrived, and by then (to my surprise) I was completely coherent and was able to answer all the questions everyone was asking me, but I was just fatigued as all hell. It still didn't make any sense to me how only hours previous, I couldn't verbalize my thoughts at all, yet now I was fine. That day, they did a CAT scan, an MRI, an EEG and kept asking me questions to see where my mental status was at, and everything came up normal (shocking, right? I jest...). Only then did the nurse tell me that I had a bladder infection, which is what the antibiotics were for. Even after that actual diagnosis, the geniuses at this hospital claim it was exhaustion or dehydration that led to my hospital stay. OR?!?! Way to commit! No, definitely neither of those.

So after talking to some family members and doing a little research, here is what I found out:

• Bladder infections in men are not as easy to detect as they are in women. They don't typically hurt men like they do women, plus the only way to tell is when your urine gets noticeably cloudy, which I hadn't honestly analyzed my pee enough to feel concerned about it.
• When left untreated, you can begin experiencing symptoms similar to dementia. That explains my dizziness, confusion and "forgetfulness".
• When medicated, those symptoms almost immediately go away and your mental state pretty much returns back to normal...within reason...

With all of that said/experienced, here's some real life advice for you men out there: pay closer attention than you normally do to how clear your urine is. I'm not talking about clear versus yellow, because that's usually just a matter of sodium, sugar or certain vitamins making a difference. I'm talking about a cloudy look. If you see that, go get checked out by a doctor. It's a scary feeling to know your mom's name and where you live, yet you can't physically say it. Don't let that happen to you.

By the way...I'll try to update this more often. I do miss it...I just hope you do too.

D.

Oh, South Carolina...

This is only a re-enactment.

...how entertaining you are!

It's been a while since I've been able to sit down with gathered thoughts to assemble anything worth reading for my fine visitors. Then I visited a Wal-Mart in Myrtle Beach yesterday afternoon after an excruciatingly long day at work. I needed to pick up some essentials: drink mixes you put in water bottles, beer, candles, a shovel, lime, some rope...ok, so only three of those are true. I'll let you figure out which ones they are. So anyway, I grab my items (assuming I didn't need a cart) and I'm fumbling them all the way up to the register when I get on the "10 Items Or Less" line. After a brief moment on that line, the cashier yells to me, "Sir, I'm CLOSED!!" Well, technically you're not...hell you're not even "open" if we're getting really technical about it. You're leaving your register momentarily and can not assist one more customer. I get it. Moving on...

For miles, I couldn't find a line that was of a reasonable wait time, so I just settled on an "Express Check-Out" (which is amazing to me that they have multiple levels of what they consider to be an express lane). As I'm standing behind the other six miscreants that decided to slither out from whatever rock or swamp log they reside under, the man in front of me turns and faces me. This is the moment my life changed forever. Allow me to describe this 'gentleman' to you:

• Mid-to-late 70s
• Already grumpy
• Southern accent (possible "good-ol'-boy)
• Didn't use a napkin on his face after his last meal...definite residue that resembled Chef Boyardee or Iodine. I'm not sure of his drug of choice, so I am only left to assume.
• Purchasing: 6-pack Pepsi, 2-pack Lever 2000 bar soap, 4-pack generic brand toilet paper, and random red polo shirt (typical shopping cart of the elderly, minus the Centrum Silver and Depends)
• Outsmarted me by having a cart...rare slip on my part...won't happen again.

Alright, so let's just get this out of the way...NO, he did not hit on me. That is a one-time event in itself. Even if he was...he's not my type. Anyway, he nervously laughs before beginning this conversation with me, and keep in mind folks...these opinions are solely his own, I am simply relaying them to you out of pure shock and entertainment. Brace yourself...

I'm going to refer to the old man as Monty...simply because he looked like a Monty to me.

Monty: I always get on the wrong line...
D: I do too, believe me.
M: You don't sound like you're from around here, so you must not know this is a pretty regular thing...to be on a line this slow.
D: I'm definitely familiar with slow lines, don't worry. And I just moved here.
M: Where are you from?
D: New York.
M: So you must not know what waiting in this line is like. (<--- ????? Senility much?)
D: It's okay, I've got time.
M: Well I'm from North Carolina, moved here 35 years ago. I've only had three jobs my whole life.........(rambles on while I think of beer and dinner ideas...don't worry, you're not missing anything but his life story...just thank me now and we'll move on...).......and now I'm on this damn line.

Ok, so, this is where the conversation took a truly unexpected turn...

D: You and me both.
M: If it weren't for these Mexicans, Indians, Blacks and women, it would never be like this.

In my mind, my jaw hit the floor and caused an earthquake. How I held it together, I still have no idea.

D: Really?
M: Yep. It's them Mexicans, Indians, Blacks and women that are out to kill you. Are you married?
D: Nope.
M: Good...don't ever get married. They'll kill you. Once you get married, your stuff becomes theirs. Don't do it.
D: I gotcha.

About this time, he gets to the check-out counter. The cashier is a Mexican woman. That's just priceless irony right there. His face gets noticeably disgruntled. He pays in cash (of course), and proceeds to walk away. Then he turns back to me...

M: Don't ever get married...they'll kill you!

Then he walks away.

So perhaps some of you were expecting crazier than that, but I must say that was the most interesting check-out experience of my life. Well...at least South Carolina isn't without its entertainment.

D.