Archive for the ‘Allegedly Funny’ Category

Most evenings, from about 8 o’clock onward, the time I spend on the recliner with the Bi-Pap tethered to my face is a complete mystery to me as to how the television program I catch the beginning of actually ends.

I know that was an awkwardly constructed sentence. My bad.

Basically, I usually fall asleep midway through whatever it is we’re watching.

But that was not the case last night.

Sort of.

Once Emma headed off to dreamland, Fehmeen grabbed the Comcast remote from the coffee table and pressed the My DVR button so we could begin to make a dent in our backlogged show queue.

My wife pressed play on the latest episode of The Real Housewives of New Jersey and away we went…

…to join our sleeping daughter in dreamland.

I sacked out almost immediately after the opening credits were done. I even missed out on watching the replay of Teresa’s inebriated hubby, Joe Giudice, chipping a tooth by bouncing his face off the floor of his foyer.

All I knew is that I woke up during a commercial.

Which was weird because typically Fehmeen fast-forwards right past any advertisements that happen to appear on our 42″ Mitsubishi flat screen.

One quarter turn of my head to the right and I saw that my matrimonial partner had fallen asleep as well. Aww, how cute, was my initial thought.

Groggily, I refocused my attention on the television and this is what I think I saw:

It was an ad for some kind of supplement, like a fish oil or an omega 3, created by the fine folks at Chia.

Yes, that Chia.

Ch Ch Ch Chia.

Apparently, the same stuff that grows on the ceramic cats, dogs, and even Mr T’s and Obama’s has nutritional value and/or is good for you.

Go figure!

The next thing you know they’ll be selling us that Sea Monkeys are high in fiber, that ShamWows make excellent diapers, and that if you wear a Snuggy backwards, it’s almost the same as a robe.

Please someone tell me they’ve seen this commercial and that I wasn’t hallucinating the whole thing.


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Sunday evening around seven, seven thirty or so, the three youngest Picetti’s were hanging together in the family room.

My neck was sore from watching football and football related programming since nine in the AM. Fehmeen must have sensed that my fantasy team was losing because she offered to massage my neck for the duration of three Zac Brown Band songs.

Always the nimble negotiator, Emma inserted her voice into the convo and suggested that we listen (and dance) to the musical stylings of Justin Bieber.

I nodded my head as if my neck didn’t hurt to let Fehmeen know where my loyalties were lying for the evening’s soundtrack. She smiled the ‘of course you’re going to agree with anything your daughter says’ kind of smile as she loaded the disc into the player.

Emma started moving and grooving the second the familiar Whoa Oooh Oooh introductory refrains of the lead track Baby.

After the second chorus and sometime before the Ludacris rapping section, Emma put this little gem out there: “I really like her voice!”

My wife and I looked at each other and Fehmeen informed our not even three-and-a-half year old little girl that the sweet sounding soprano voice she loved to sing along with belonged to a boy.

Her response was simply: “No, Mama.”

She came around a bit when Fehmeen showed Justin’s picture from the cd case and by the time track two began it was pretty much a non-issue for her…

…as it was for me. The massage lasted almost eight songs. You go, Justin(e) Bieber.

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Marco Polo

Anyone who has ever spent some time in or near a swimming pool is probably familiar with the game Marco Polo.

Just in case you aren’t the kind of person who lounges around a pool or perhaps you are but you still haven’t the foggiest idea to what I am referring, here’s a quick explanation:

It’s basically a variation on the game of tag that takes place in the water. The person who is ‘it’ closes his or her eyes and says “Marco” while everyone else who is participating must respond with “Polo”. The ‘it’ person then tries to tag one of the other players by honing in on the sound of their voices. The call and response continues until someone gets tagged and that person is now ‘it’.

While it’s been a couple of years since I’ve been in the water (I wrote about the watsu experience here), that hasn’t stopped me from playing the at-home version several nights a week.

A typical game begins around 2 or 3 in the morning. Since I need to be repositioned and rolled onto my side, I begin grunting for help from the night nurse. Marco.


Seeing as how I just woke up and my grunting voice might be a little weak, I fire off two in a row. Marco Marco.

Silence. The night nurse is fast asleep.

I gird myself and spit out five in rapid succession. Marco x 5!

Movement from the night nurse chair. Polo.

Then silence.

This is the point in the game where I would like to stop playing and be rolled over from my back to my side because 1) it is uncomfortable this way and 2) the saliva in my mouth is forming a miniature pool near the back of my throat.

I wait several moments listening for any additional stirrings from the night nurse and when none are forthcoming, I begin to grunt once every three to four seconds until I run out of steam. Marco pause Marco pause Marco pause Marco pause Mar

Polo. The ottoman part of the night nurse recliner slams down to its initial spot underneath the chair.

This is where you would imagine that I’d have made the proverbial tag to the night nurse and I’d be happily laying on my side but the game is still afoot.

There is still no movement from the chair to the bed.

Marco Marco Marco Marco Marco Ma

Polo Polo Polo Polo (body repositioned)

Polo Polo Polo (rolled onto side)

Polo Polo (given suction)


zzz zzz zzz zzz zzz

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Actually, it was only six appointments but, for some reason, a thousand sounded a whole lot more dramatic than the real number.

I apologize in advance if you were hoping to read about the additional 994 other appointments I hyperbolized about going to in the title. My bad!

We started out the week on Monday with a visit from Jen and her acupuncture kit. For the first time in a long time I actually felt the chi flowing through my body (particularly my arms).

Laurie came over Tuesday for my hour long massage therapy session. Don’t know if you know this but Jack Johnson’s live cd is perfectly suited to accompany sixty minutes worth of massage time.

Wednesday afternoon I went to see Lindsey and Robin at Robin’s office. At one point, as they pulled my hands and feet in opposite directions, I thought I was an extra in some middle ages torture movie.

We knocked out two appointments on Thursday. First stop was at Dr Ken’s for a much needed chiropractic adjustment. I love it when he cracks my neck. And then Julian and I hightailed to the theater to catch a matinee showing of (early Oscar hopeful) Final Destination 5. I gave it a B- grade.

Finally on Friday, my HMO-assigned wheelchair guy stopped by with some new wheels and a more supportive headrest. The wheels are great but he completely whiffed on the other thing. It was neither supportive or comfortable in any way — even though he kept asking me if it was as my now-out-of-alignment neck was bent awkwardly down and to the left. The whole episode could have been salvaged if he would have remembered to bring something to hold my head in place on the headrest — like we asked for during our consultation four weeks earlier — but he just acted as if this was news to him.

Anyway, it sucks to end such a good week on a shitty note but what am I supposed to do, blog about it?

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Chaps II

Emma woke up this morning as Fehmeen was finishing an episode of The Big C from our DVR.

The youngest Picetti waltzed into the living room at the exact time when a character onscreen was wearing a pair of chaps — without any pants!  And yes, there was definitely a full moon out this morning, if you know what I mean.

Well, our three year old daughter took notice and started peppering her mama with questions about the man’s fashion choice.

In the end, it was Emma’s remark about how some things are better private and Fehmeen’s answer to the question about why he’s wearing those pants without the butt with “because he’s hot” that cracked me up the most.

Click here for my other Chaps story.

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Luke Puked

It was with equal parts of terror and amusement did Emma bear witness to her swimming lesson partner’s throwing up in the pool yesterday.

Apparently, the young lad took on a little too much water while floating on his back. The coughs came first, which were followed by a few dry heaves, and then it was showtime.

He barfed in the pool and on the deck and on his swimsuit.

During the whole affair Emma gleefully recounted to everyone within earshot the one and only time she upchucked in her life — it was while she was sleeping in bed and involved chili.

And before you get to feeling sorry for the young master Luke, he was back in the pool not five minutes after it happened.

I doubt that would have been the case if he would have dropped a floater in there.


The Caption Contest poll has been added to the previous post. Scroll down or go here to vote for your favorite.

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As Promised

Having never been buzzed — hairstyle-wise, of course — the time was right for a radically different, and most importantly, low maintenance, look for the outside of my dome.

Basically, I no longer resemble The Donald with a small furry critter on my head. Don’t know if I’ll ask for the same thing next time I visit Supercuts.

Oh well, life’s a learning curve.

This is NOT the newest caption contest picture! 🙂

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Just before getting (literally) pulled up out of bed this morning, I flashed back to the time when I saw the movie Amadeus at the Millbrae Theater. I don’t know if it was the time of the year that it was showing — either near Thanksgiving or Christmas — or maybe it was the fact that the audience was packed with “old people”, the one single memory I took with me from that in-theater experience is the moment the house lights came on at the end of the film, the entire auditorium reeked like turkey farts. Too many years have passed for me to recall seeing a bunch of “blue hairs” sleeping off the effects of tryptophan on their systems. All I have left in my mind’s nostril is the soury sweet smell of flatulence.

Well, my friends, that little stroll down the lighted aisle got me thinking about other interesting and unusual experiences I have had while at the movie theater. Then I figured what good are those memories in my head when it would be so much more fun to share them right here with you all!

I hope you enjoy reading about these good times half as much as I did making them.

When I was a wee lad, my dad and I were at the Tanforan theater concession stand ordering popcorns and Dr Peppers when I told the lady helping us that my dad knew Dr Pepper when he was an intern. (It was one of his go-to phrases at the time). Anyway, she shot the future Italian Man Servant a look that said, “what the heck are you in teaching this kid, Mister?” as she handed over the snacks to us.

Then there was the time when Animal House had just come out and John and Judy decided to bring their nine year old son along with them to the show. You know that scene where Pinto is wrestling with what to do about/to/with his passed out Toga party date and the little angel and devil appear on his shoulder? Well, I neither saw nor heard much of it because while my dad covered my ears, my mom shielded my eyes. It wasn’t until the film came on HBO the next year that I got to experience the scene as Douglas C Neidermeyer, Daniel Simpson Day and Senator Blutarski intended it to be seen.

I’m pretty sure that my friends Matt and Erin and I were taking in a matinee showing of Take This Job and Shove It and being the obnoxious adolescents we were, we smuggled a Pip Squirt pen into the theater. For those of you scratching your head and wondering what the heck a Pip Squirt pen is, imagine if you will a functioning pen that also doubles as a kick ass water gun. Well, one miniature water pistol plus a darkened theater filled with unsuspecting marks equals an afternoon of muffled giggles for three suburban troublemakers. Unfortunately, our day at target practice was over quickly after Matt scored a direct hit to the back of some guy’s head. This man was so steamed at whomever blasted him in the back of the melon that he threw down his bucket of popcorn and stormed out of the theater never to return.

And then there was the time when Matt, Erin and I saw Creepshow and three-quarters of the way through it, Matt and I heard the telltale sound of rushing liquid entering a wax paper beverage cup. Apparently, the prospect of missing even one minute of this riveting flick was too much for Erin to bear so he brought the toilet to his chair by peeing in his empty soda cup.

Back in the mid-eighties when Rocky IV was released to a rabid and largely jingoistic American public, I attended a showing on opening night at the newly constructed Century Theater in South San Francisco. I remember being elbow to elbow in the lobby with hundreds of other Rocky Balboa fight fans chomping at the bit to get seated for the big showdown with the Soviet monster Ivan Drago. The movie itself did not disappoint any of us in attendance as spontaneous chants of USA, USA, USA filled the rafters when the Italian Stallion emerged victorious.

And then there was that time when we saw Raising Arizona and my friend Roger accidentally dropped an unopened bottle of Coors from his coat and it rolled all the way down to the screen. Several folks snickered and guffawed. Never one to waste a perfectly good beer, Roger simply walked himself to the front of the theater and retrieved his brewski. More than several people politely applauded his effort.

I could fill a thousand pages with stories about my merry misadventures at the Burlingame Drive-Ins but for the sake of brevity, I’ll limit it to only two. One evening, a high school letterman jacket wearing friend and I were trying our hardest to stave off early onset glaucoma (if you know what I mean). Anyway, after our fourth trip to the snackbar in two hours, the woman working behind the counter said to us, “I want some of whatever Potsie is smoking!” Needless to say our polluted minds were blown by her intuitive mind power until we realized that Potsie’s name was written on the back of his coat.

The less I talk about the time I drove my Camaro over the center dividing line bumps in front of at least four police cruisers while leaving those very same drive-ins, the less embarrassed I’ll feel.

One evening in 2007, Fehmeen and I couldn’t decide on a movie to see so we opted to check out separate shows. She went with Chris Brown’s This Christmas and I saw Amy Adams and Patrick Dempsey’s Enchanted. (What can I say, I like what I like!?!). Once the lights went down and I felt less self-conscious about being one of the only single viewer in an auditorium full of families, I got to enjoy one of my favorite films of all-time.

And finally, for the occasion of our first date, I took the future Mrs Picetti to a romantic dinner at Chili’s followed by the 7:45 showing of the history of surfing documentary Riding Giants. I was shocked to find out several weeks later that she absolutely hated it. Oh, the things you do for love.

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Skinning the Cat

Before you get crazy and call the fine folks over at PETA or at your local SPCA about the title of this post, keep in mind that I accompanied Emma (and Fehmeen) to her Junior Gym class yesterday.

Usually parents are required to sit behind the glass in the lobby in order to watch their kids tumble and jump, but since rules rarely apply to me, we were invited by Teacher Justin to check out class from inside the gym.

It’s an interesting experience to watch and listen to your kid interact with other kids and authority figures. It didn’t come as too big a surprise to see that Emma was definitely the most talkative student in class. She also led the group in requests for teacher assistance. Again, not really shocking.

Based upon what I saw, I think that she has the least amount of experience doing this kind of coordinated movement — balance beam crossing, parallel bar crab and bear walking, downhill ramp somersaulting, and even the aforementioned skinning of the cat on the lower uneven bar — compared with the other four kids in her class.

To his credit, Teacher Justin individualized tasks and routines for every student based upon their already acquired skills and areas that need improvement. Everyone had a good time practicing their moves on the various apparati — except for the little guy who decided against participating with the rest of the group and was asked to exit the gym until such a time when he had a change in attitude.

Apparently, he left the building not soon after departing the workout area, mumbling something about rotten orange slices and stale animal crackers.

The hour flew by like fifty minutes and as they filed into the lobby, each kid got a stamp for their hands. They were all excited to receive their little splotch of colored ink for the day and they left the premises happy and seemingly eager to return next week.

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Besides the wheelchair and the bed, the only other item in my possession that I could not live without is my brown, faux-leather recliner.

It is way more than just a piece of furniture to me.

I receive at least three hours of forced air via my BiPap every evening while seated in the reclined position. So what if it dries out the saliva on my tongue and the roof of my mouth!?! It’s worth it for the 180+ minute respite of being drool-free.

I have seen countless movies and endless episodes of Real Housewives (of OC, NY, ATL, NJ, DC, BH, and MIA) on that chair. Bonus points if you can identify at least one current cast member from every city/region listed above AND you lack a Y chromosome. You can do it, fellas.

(Please don’t let me be the only one with this particular skill set).

I get tube-fed five meals a day of 350 calorie per serving Boost there. It used to be six times a day but when all I got for my birthday were an assortment of muumuus and elastic waistbanded pants, I knew it was time to cut back.

I watched every inning of the Giants’ World Championship Playoff run of 2010 while my ass pressed down onto that seat cushion. Everyone knows where they were on November 1, 2010 when the Gigantes won it all, don’t they?!

And from the upright position is where I do all of my Eye Gazing.

So, can you see what I’m saying about my recliner and how important it is to me in our household?!?

Well, just this past Thursday, we found yet another way to utilize this incredibly versatile piece of furniture:

As a massage table.

Since the prospect of getting me on an actual massage table is comical at best and dangerous at worst, we made the decision for me to receive my first in-home, therapeutic massage in the comfortable confines of my beloved recliner.

Best decision ever.

To use the chair AND to book the masseuse.

It has been a long time since I’ve felt so relaxed. My arms, legs, chest, back, neck and head. All letting go and staying gone throughout the entire treatment.

It was definitely a rude awakening to open my eyes and have to have all the oil wiped off of my body and chair.

But not so much of a hassle that I’m not counting down the hours until my next session.




Thank you everyone for all the comments and good thoughts sent my way as a result of the Lost Mojo post. They were enthusiastically received and immediately taken to heart. I appreciate your support and I’ll do my best to not stay away so long in the future.

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