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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