tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62116622561460801662024-03-19T14:39:26.111-04:00Practically WisdomPractically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.comBlogger80125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-33465178943611388852009-03-10T02:17:00.004-04:002021-10-26T14:06:00.936-04:00Where's the Dollar?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi87cCZwvtIVQOrNaZ_w_qmmz43Y3oeSgq4CmvDpIyzKN7HeCuIC7gieL89lnXmcL9rM7I6PcNCFQiq_zAo3Gwi3nyZ-cHeZJLBK88275q9kLHgyA4b5ZZYX-1Gl9_nHFBrUotwztRhg5Dh/s1600-h/interrogation4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi87cCZwvtIVQOrNaZ_w_qmmz43Y3oeSgq4CmvDpIyzKN7HeCuIC7gieL89lnXmcL9rM7I6PcNCFQiq_zAo3Gwi3nyZ-cHeZJLBK88275q9kLHgyA4b5ZZYX-1Gl9_nHFBrUotwztRhg5Dh/s400/interrogation4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311439455809342178" /></a><I>"Okay kid. Where’s the other dollar?"</I>
<I><b>"Honest sir, he only gave me five. I swear!"</I></b>
<I>"Kid, do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I was born yesterday? Does it look like I just fell off the turnip truck? (I’m not even sure what that means.)"</i>
<I><b>"Sir, with all due respect, the manager gave me five, I gave you three and I kept only two."</I></b>
<I>"Listen kid, I know how to count. If you don’t have it, where is it?"</I>
<I><b>"Sir, with all due respect, I don’t know where it went. I’m not even sure it’s missing!"</I></b>
Is he lying? I think you need to know the whole story to decide.
There were three of us traveling together. We needed a place to stay overnight. We spotted a sign on the door to an old bed and breakfast.
"Stay Here Tonight … $10.00", it said.
We went in and asked the gentleman behind the desk for three rooms.
<I><b>"I’m sorry guys, I only have one room available. Would you like to share the one room?"</I></b>
After a brief discussion amongst ourselves we agreed to share the room.
The gentleman charged us $10.00 each and collected our $30.00.
There was a young kid mulling about whom he instructed to show us to our room.
About an hour later the manager called for the kid.
<I><b>"Kid, I feel bad I charged those guys $30.00 for sharing a room."</I></b>
He handed the kid five ones and told him to return it to us.
The kid, on his way to deliver the money thought it would be much easier to give us just three dollars back (because after all, there were three of us) and then keep two for himself.
We happily accepted the three ones, which we split between us and when we attempted to tip the kid he wouldn’t accept it, admitting to keeping two for himself.
<I>"Hold on just one second there, kid!"</I> I said.
Getting a dollar back each means we paid $27 for the room … Originally we gave him $10 each equaling $30. Now, getting a dollar back each we only paid $9 each. So … 3 times $9 is $27 … the kid kept $2 … making it $29 …
Where did the other dollar go?<div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-28069201297542148082021-01-13T01:44:00.001-05:002021-01-13T01:44:28.822-05:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-PQNABbKM1sVTfPwJDN6OvWxb4ZJMivY2xYEnDdV75Aycyp6SY_SYWkoXP4ZPnkjW80PUugSQTwgFqiatb80zdNehuMKab4k6A1bSJfiS-7qQHsQuBGU2LSEnmF8MBcORqnMdnEGqtGb7/s563/CrackersAlarmMeme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="506" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-PQNABbKM1sVTfPwJDN6OvWxb4ZJMivY2xYEnDdV75Aycyp6SY_SYWkoXP4ZPnkjW80PUugSQTwgFqiatb80zdNehuMKab4k6A1bSJfiS-7qQHsQuBGU2LSEnmF8MBcORqnMdnEGqtGb7/s320/CrackersAlarmMeme.jpg" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-89861302422224544882013-09-06T10:25:00.002-04:002013-09-06T10:34:07.626-04:00<br />
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<i><b>”Joe, what‘s up with the wisdom thing?”</b></i></div>
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I can’t believe how many have asked about Practically Wisdom.</div>
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<i><b>”Joe, everything okay with you and the wife?”</b></i></div>
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<i><b>”Joe, break more ribs?.”</b></i></div>
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<i><b>”Joe, did you get voted off the island?”</b></i></div>
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For those of you who really care, I’m here to explain.</div>
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Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah!</div>
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Boy … I hope you can’t remember what I was saying back then ... this post (now edited) was originally from about 4 years ago.<br />
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I was whining on and on ... excusing myself from continuing my blog.</div>
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In a nutshell … I got really busy … a bit lazy … and trying not to be both was exhausting.</div>
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Since then ... My Practically Wisdom domain name expired (I have to look into reclaiming that.) ... and I'm really surprised Google didn’t kick my ass off the island after seemingly crawling under a rock and just taking up a bunch of their space. </div>
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Well … Google had faith in my return ... So here I am.<br />
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A lot has happened over the years so I thought I’d take some time and re-cap for anyone interested.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m back and ready to tickle the computer keys.</div>
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<b><i>Oh ... Did I mention ... Our family grew a bit in the past 4 years.</i></b><br />
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Please say “hello” if you’re still out there.</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-91743435696723257842009-02-24T15:55:00.008-05:002009-02-24T23:51:07.676-05:00Cancun, Revisited<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghJxCMdF8163VQ7xFjaR1skV7Nz86CGVK1-GoMjDs3b2kulGVVJLENTSX8NX34P4npolPqEosQRpjWbtryVsZuPdHaLRF-5zPZD3nEFlQa_M4M5QTwXVH4zX2LcmSAZEc9-uhUrJbcJhMP/s1600-h/View.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghJxCMdF8163VQ7xFjaR1skV7Nz86CGVK1-GoMjDs3b2kulGVVJLENTSX8NX34P4npolPqEosQRpjWbtryVsZuPdHaLRF-5zPZD3nEFlQa_M4M5QTwXVH4zX2LcmSAZEc9-uhUrJbcJhMP/s400/View.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306577853998550706" /></a><br />I’d like to share all the details of my vacation with you but due to tequila circumstances beyond my control … I’m grateful I still have these memories.<br /><br />Domenica: <I><b>"So, did you get some Pesos?"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"Yep, I think I’ve got about 723, 471 Pesos."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"What! How much did you give them?"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"In dollars?"</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"What the hell! Did I miss a layover in China where you picked up some yen?"</I></b><br /><br />Domenica: <I><b>"I can’t believe we’re doing food shopping."</I></b><br />Me: <I>"I can’t believe we’re doing it here in a Mexican Wal-Mart."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"We’ll, we do have a kitchen. We may as well cook some meals."</I></b><br />Me: <I>"It’s the least we can do, they did give us the best bedroom."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>”What’s with Don?"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"I’m not sure … It kind of looks like … he’s had a couple."</I><br />Son-in-Don: <I><b>"Wooooo Hoooo! Free tequila and rum samples in aisle five!"</I></b><br /><br />Domenica: <I><b>"I hate wearing this wrist band."</I></b><br />Me: <I>"Honey, ignore it. It’s for our discounts and our two-for-one drinks."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Yeah, but I feel like it’s choking me."</I></b><br />Me: <I>"It’s on you freekin’ wrist!"</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"I ain’t wearing it!"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"I need a margarita."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Good, you have on your wrist band that means we get two."</I></b><br />Me: <I>"But I want two … You make me need two margaritas."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Then ask for two! They'll give you four. And hurry up, I’m thirsty!"</I></b><br /><br />Me: <I>"Honey, aren’t you excited, this is our first time snorkeling."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Yeah, that’s what I am, excited."</I></b><br />Me: <I>"I think I have this mask on correctly, I’m going in."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"You go ahead, I’m right behind you."</I></b><br />Me (Coming up and pulling out my mouthpiece): <I>"Wow! OMG! Look! Right under this pier … tons of fish."</I><br />Domenica wearing her mask, sticks her face into the water…)<br />Domenica: <I><b>"Yep! Fish! Well, I had enough!"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"Now there’s money well spent."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Hey, this trip does include all you can drink. Amanda! Margaritas!"</I></b><br />Amanda: <I><b>"You don’t have to ask me twice!"</i></b><br /><br />Jimmy: <I><b>"Are you paying for that in pesos or dollars?"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"I don’t know. I need my cheat sheet."</I><br />Jimmy: <I><b>"Just multiply by ten. If it’s 50 pesos then give them $5.00 … they’ll like you because you really gave them more than 50 pesos."</I></b><br />Me: <I>"I think I got it. So, I’d really be giving them a little extra."</I><br />(Later in the week…)<br />Me: <I>"I don’t think that waiter likes us."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Why, you’ve been tipping them good, haven’t you?"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"Of course, every day, Jimmy taught me to give them a little more."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"So what did you give him the last time?"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"I definitely remember giving him five pesos."</I><br />Jimmy: <I><b>"Good work! You gave him 33 cents."</I></b><p><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9svLcrsWqwteCfvvEwKxhPG8VQfL_ycrD1cBoBf6Ltadz3FC-aWTfa7YQPhFnwdSABlBYsMr1jUsvEYLJqk5yMeYUGedbXpwqLorqKYm9Q6rXBGV_jjrsFxuVLUGI46DSma5o_2AIqlX3/s1600-h/CoCoBongo7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9svLcrsWqwteCfvvEwKxhPG8VQfL_ycrD1cBoBf6Ltadz3FC-aWTfa7YQPhFnwdSABlBYsMr1jUsvEYLJqk5yMeYUGedbXpwqLorqKYm9Q6rXBGV_jjrsFxuVLUGI46DSma5o_2AIqlX3/s400/CoCoBongo7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306587266711713298" /></a>Me: <I>"Wow! Coco Bongos is awesome."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Yeh … This table is great!"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"I’ll have a beer and a shot of tequila please!"</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Same for me."</I></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBEftoFvVx50fX9Lry6OVkvZrqaza4KVyuVjL8RMbV-4hT-4_f0SBhAUXpS_nHi_dnUiBELPhzgRyeKGFEYbta-F9f90GhXbH0aRnRtt7Xzls5zvvOkXMqVp_Q7w3oC7HwxHk5pNeUbaZq/s1600-h/coco-bongo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBEftoFvVx50fX9Lry6OVkvZrqaza4KVyuVjL8RMbV-4hT-4_f0SBhAUXpS_nHi_dnUiBELPhzgRyeKGFEYbta-F9f90GhXbH0aRnRtt7Xzls5zvvOkXMqVp_Q7w3oC7HwxHk5pNeUbaZq/s320/coco-bongo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306586627771825826" /></a> Me (looking up and pointing to the sexy blonde dancing on the bar): <I>"Have the camera ready, I’m gonna be up there dancing with her."</I><br />Domenica (looking up at the bar): <I><b>"Oh, are you?"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"Hey! Wait! I was only kidding. Where are you going?"</I><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByeyIicphrVjSndpaVIui7Y5F_U6bcqRjSG4ZvLhCa-K1FvJpj2d_r83hiCRO0r0LfpdQotcc3XPHXzM7U0GkBewVsFT_kEmR1sDilrolZKPH7TyHFRG0sxKrgJ7ibHDfW908oyC4bijN/s1600-h/DomBar.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByeyIicphrVjSndpaVIui7Y5F_U6bcqRjSG4ZvLhCa-K1FvJpj2d_r83hiCRO0r0LfpdQotcc3XPHXzM7U0GkBewVsFT_kEmR1sDilrolZKPH7TyHFRG0sxKrgJ7ibHDfW908oyC4bijN/s320/DomBar.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306586628251304178" /></a><br /><br />Me: <I>"Let’s get some snacks before we board."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Oh, good idea, Carla’s already in line."</I></b><br />(At the airport store)<br />Carla: <I><b>"Hurry, I’m next in line. Give those to me."</I></b><br />Me: <I>"I’ll have this, this, these, this and she’ll have those."</I><br />Store Clerk: <I><b>"That will be $44.50 please."</I></b><br />Me: <I>"Huh. Wait. These Mexican nuts must be expensive. I’m putting these back."</I><br />Store Clerk: <I><b>"That will be $37.00 please."</I></b><br />Carla: <I><b>"Don’t look at me, I only have this water."</I></b><br />Me: <I>"Huh? Crap! Okay, I’m putting these back too, and this."</I><br />Store Clerk: <I><b>"That will be $34.00 please."</I></b><br />Me: <I>"What? Okay, okay, just pay it!"</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"What the hell did you buy?"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"Carla, let me see the receipt … three waters, M&Ms, GummyBears … Planter’s Nuts ..."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Why you looking at me?"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"That small can of Planter’s Nuts was $14.00!"</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Well, they are imported you know."</I></b><br /><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Joe, you have the key, right?"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"Yes. Right here. Ah, home sweet home."</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Everything seems okay, just as we left it."</I></b><br />Me: <I>"I’m hungry, is there anything in the fridge?"</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Nope. Shall we order out?"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"Might as well. Chinese?"</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Sounds good, let’s go."</I></b><br />Restaurant clerk: <I><b>"That will be $24.50 please."</I></b><br />Domenica: <I><b>"Even with this?"</I></b><br />Me: <I>"What! Now you’re wearing your 30% off wrist band?"</I><br />Domenica: <I><b>"So, where are we going next year?"</I></b><div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com216tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-59057910089389072852009-02-23T17:10:00.002-05:002009-02-23T17:28:37.400-05:00Hello ...<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/yZ8k6fVe25k&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/yZ8k6fVe25k&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Vacation is over.<br />I'm just dropping by to see what's up!<div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-46011262016873012222009-02-06T21:11:00.004-05:002009-02-06T21:26:34.578-05:00Where's Joe?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUTM9MxmK1myo4vpeUCBwMZWJHyqMTCm5E0k3J93PL7vzWHIG8sFX8suumYb0gl_xfOGCkZ7nCSu9GMEYt9h0Is0lgYHCUORNAWiBG8zsWZf3RTfGHXQldcf4lWW_ZIi4yw6r8FeHN8CH/s1600-h/vaca.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLUTM9MxmK1myo4vpeUCBwMZWJHyqMTCm5E0k3J93PL7vzWHIG8sFX8suumYb0gl_xfOGCkZ7nCSu9GMEYt9h0Is0lgYHCUORNAWiBG8zsWZf3RTfGHXQldcf4lWW_ZIi4yw6r8FeHN8CH/s400/vaca.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299872919512031746" /></a><br />My apologies to anyone wondering where I’ve been.<br />No … I'm not in the hospital with more broken ribs!<br />No … The wife hasn’t thrown me out.<br />No … I’m not locked in a shrimp truck or stuck in my closet.<br /><br />I am far, far away … living on a beach.<br />I wish you were all here. <br />I’ll be out of the country until after Valentines Day.<br />I promise to catch up with all of you soon after my return.<br /><br />Guess where I am.<br />If you’re correct … I’m firing our travel agent.<div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-40293961751029203772008-10-28T01:20:00.004-04:002009-01-28T01:29:24.719-05:00Bee's Musings Photo Post<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZI82Mp2aEshE1pdniMb6EYMKG3qlv8uqf_Upt9GfN7a5t-lrEbA5AKtTaRbnBeFkoaZilV8KU_9wJHf_PYne8Sqcvfiga8SsMcAlY-apDMW7EzHY3Lrz_I5qj0UiqQ3rQo-q9PJ39WzO-/s1600-h/HappyHal.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 252px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZI82Mp2aEshE1pdniMb6EYMKG3qlv8uqf_Upt9GfN7a5t-lrEbA5AKtTaRbnBeFkoaZilV8KU_9wJHf_PYne8Sqcvfiga8SsMcAlY-apDMW7EzHY3Lrz_I5qj0UiqQ3rQo-q9PJ39WzO-/s400/HappyHal.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296227069194364578" /></a>Bee from <I><a href="http://beesmusings.blogspot.com/2009/01/wtf-was-i-thinking-picture-day.html"target="new">Bee's Musings</a></I> sent out a request.<br />The idea is to post a picture I decided not to use on a post.<br />This was close to halloween so I tucked the picture between some October posts.<div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-90595297475237867392009-01-27T17:42:00.005-05:002009-01-27T18:32:44.182-05:00I'm a Hoodlum and a Perp<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgghauo1o65NEShgzxmP2Qc1ZKZb5c9ZTS3sxLLhoF3gfJTwGXrDQ6zD97k0gz-4hkUZHgQrFWI6xxLawFt_s1I6tEhy4mExbq2kGvCGRneD_9z22rJTheOvoPzfI4nh6KHVZBx4Yt4s-wa/s1600-h/hood.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgghauo1o65NEShgzxmP2Qc1ZKZb5c9ZTS3sxLLhoF3gfJTwGXrDQ6zD97k0gz-4hkUZHgQrFWI6xxLawFt_s1I6tEhy4mExbq2kGvCGRneD_9z22rJTheOvoPzfI4nh6KHVZBx4Yt4s-wa/s400/hood.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296114413028403698" /></a>Rushing around. Trying to get things done.<br />I had a list of things to do and I wanted to get back in time for Jerry Springer.<br /><br />It was single digit weather. You know it’s cold when dogs are freezing to fire hydrants. I was prepared. I am, after all, a New Englander.<br />But that was fairly obvious, by the Red Sox cap on my head and the Patriots hooded sweatshirt zipped up keeping me snug and warm.<br />To keep warm in such weather you need to dress in layers. I’m sure you’ve heard that before. It’s true, as I always do with such statements; I checked its validity on Snopes.com.<br /><br />So … under my hooded sweatshirt was a long sleeve denim shirt, over a short sleeved t-shirt, which was over a long sleeve t-shirt, which was covering all I really needed which was the 30 pounds of genuine Italian chest and back fur I usually carry around with me.<br /><br />No wonder I got more than the normal amount of stares from my fellow shoppers at the supermarket. I must have looked like the Unabomber with my hood up and my bulky sweatshirt stuffed with layers of clothes. And now that I’m thinking about it, it kind of explains why people were going out of their way to avoid my shopping cart as I barreled down the aisles at six APM* instead of my usual two APM. (*Aisle Per Minute). I had not one carriage bump: although I did clip a few people at their heels.<br /><br /><I><b>“OUCH! Slow down!”</I></b><br /><I>“Oops! Sorry sir.”</I><br /><I><b>“OWWWW! WTF!”</I></b><br /><I>“Oops! My bad, mamm.”</I><br /><I><b>“Yeeeeowww! Boo-hoo. Boo-hoo! Mommy, mommy!”</I></b><br /><I>“Oops! Sorry kid.”</I><br /><br />So … I have two errands left … the dry cleaners and the bank.<br />I park the car, grab the bag of dirty clothes and run down the sidewalk.<br />I open the door to the drycleaners … chuck my bag in … and say …<br /><I>“Marie,Imgoingnextdoortothebank. I’llbebackintwominutestopickupmycleanclothes.”</I><br />Shhhhhwoooooosh!<br /><I><b>“Marie, what was that? I couldn’t make out who it was.”</I></b><br /><I><b>“I’m not sure, Sue. According to the label on the bag it was Joe.”</I></b><br /><br />I enter the bank and quickly take my place in line.<br />I check my watch … Ten minutes to Springer.<br /><I>“Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!”</I> … I think to myself.<br />Then came the poke in my back.<br /><I>“Crap! It’s a hold up.”</I><br /><b><I>“You want to remove your sunglasses.”</b></I> … It was a statement more than a question … I ignored it.<br />Another poke … only harder …<br /><b><I>“I said, remove your sunglasses … and the hood.”</b></I><br />I turn to face an old man, easily in his eighties.<br /><I>“Sir, they’re called ‘Transitions’ … They’re not sunglasses.”</I><br /><b><I>“Don’t take that tone with me young fella. Now, take off the hood, hat and glasses!”</b></I><br /><I>“Sir, if I take off the glasses I can’t see.”</I><br /><b><I>“That’s it! Let me see some ID!”</b></I><br /><I>“Huh? Wha? … No sir … let me see YOUR ID!”</I><br /><br />Then came the manager …<br /><b>“Okay. Okay, gentlemen. Let’s take a breath. Mr. Sampson, is something wrong?”</b><br /><b><I>“Is something wrong? Why yes, there’s something wrong. This perp won’t take off his disguise.”</b></I><br /><b>“Joe, would you please pull down your hood and remove your cap for the retired Sergeant Sampson?”</b><br /><I>“Ahm … sure … okay … sorry about that.”</I><br /><b><I>“There’s something fishy about this hoodlum. He was wearing sunglasses a minute ago.”</b></I><br /><I>“Sergeant, sir, I told you they’re ‘Transitions’! They’re the same glasses!”</I><br /><b>“Joe, please, window two, it’s your turn.”</b><br /><b><I>“Next time obey the signs or I’ll bring you in.”</b></I><br /><I>“Yea … whatever!”</I><br /><b>“Uh, Mr. Sampson, please, way down this end, window six will take you.”</b><br /><br />Back at the cleaners …<br /><I>“Hey, I’m back to pick up my clothes.”</I><br /><I><b>“Oh, Joe. It was you. You were so quick before. We didn’t know who it was with the hood, hat and sunglasses.”</I></b><br /><I>“OMG! They’re ‘Transitions! Not sunglasses … oh … never mind. Bye!”</I><br /><br /><I><b>“Sue? Is it me, or was Joe just not his usual happy-go-lucky self today?</I></b><br /><I><b>“You’re right, Marie. He did seem a bit upset … but his glasses were kind of cool.”</I></b><div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-60389412302465154502009-01-21T01:42:00.005-05:002009-01-21T02:07:49.527-05:00Our First Date<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4he_3EMyMSbj6TW68GtVBlk4zY6bmqVlrkQq1ZmBmGYSd7nGCq5KFDjwrneWWtSobmJDtltqU3eGLhlOxB0x3GjDoIqx4mUGSIp2jtlaKYxr9jYoQOpD8NwghyphenhyphenTXkoomeDYT4PchCtHE_/s1600-h/shrimp+truck.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 274px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4he_3EMyMSbj6TW68GtVBlk4zY6bmqVlrkQq1ZmBmGYSd7nGCq5KFDjwrneWWtSobmJDtltqU3eGLhlOxB0x3GjDoIqx4mUGSIp2jtlaKYxr9jYoQOpD8NwghyphenhyphenTXkoomeDYT4PchCtHE_/s400/shrimp+truck.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293634875557200754" /></a>A Hat ... A Ring ... And No Shrimp.<br /><br /><b><I>"Joe, can you believe it? It’s been 42 years."</b></I><br />What does she mean …<I> “Can you believe it?”</I><br />Time to remind her ... just what made it so.<br />I shake my hips, thrust my pelvis like I’m being continuously goosed and gyrate a few times … that’s right … doing my "sexy" dance.<br />I stopped and with complete confidence, gave her a look as though to say … <I>"Who’s your daddy?"</I><br />She seemed to be soaking it all in. A few seconds pass … and then … three and a half minutes later, after she wiped the tears and caught her breath, she says …<br /><b><I>"Joe, please, you made me laugh so hard my head is hurting."</b></I><br />I never get the results I expect after busting my move.<br /><br />Forty-two years ago today, we had our first date.<br />We were fifteen and sophomores in high school.<br />I had met her for the first time, just a couple of days before our date. She and her friends were just horsing around at the North End Union, a neighborhood social club that had it’s own gymnasium. It was "girl’s night" in the gym. My friends and I were hanging out and looking to get out of the cold.<br /><br />Inside the club's recreation room we soon became bored and snuck down to check out the girls in the gym and before long, we invaded their space, stole their basketball and started a little keep-away.<br /><br />I was a pretty cool dude back then, especially with the chicks. That night I was wearing a beret. Very French.<br />Thinking back, I was lucky I wasn't beat up more often.<br /> <br />We didn’t know these girls and they didn’t know us.<br />We were all just having some fun, innocently running around chasing each other. Then, suddenly, my head was naked. I turned around and there she was.<br />It was the first time I really noticed her. She was beautiful. She was smiling at me devilishly. She was twirling my beret with her index finger. I was awestruck. I walked towards her and she let it fly. We continued to exhaust ourselves with further shenanigans until our trespassing was discovered. <br /><br />As we were leaving (being thrown out) she approached me, removed my hat from head and handed it to me. She noticed my ring, a star sapphire, and asked if she could try it on. She slipped it on her finger and told me she’d give it back later. She spoke with a slight Italian accent. I could say nothing but “okay”.<br /><br />The next day I was anxious to meet her again and as if she planned it, the ring was my perfect excuse. We found each other that night at the club and properly introduced ourselves. I asked for my ring back and then asked her if she would go with me.<br />Go with me = Go on a date.<br />Go on a date = Maybe make-out somewhere.<br />Maybe make-out somewhere = Fat chance.<br /><br />Surprisingly she said "yes" … but only if my two friends would come along and go out with her two friends … A triple date. My heart was beating a thousand times a minute. I told her it was a deal. I was so excited I almost passed out.<br />It didn’t take much to talk my buddies into it, we were all 15-year-olds and a only few chest hairs into puberty.<br /><br />January 21, 1967 at 8pm. It was a Saturday.<br />It was very cold and very windy.<br />The six of us met near Paul Revere’s statue and began walking towards the harbor, which was only a block away. It would be quiet there. Desolate, dark and a great place for making out. At the edge of the water the wind was stronger and after only a few minutes the girls complained it was too cold and wanted to head back. With a dire need for a “plan B”, one of the guys noticed an empty truck at one of the loading docks.<br /><br />I ran over to inspect. It was a refrigerated truck with a logo of a shrimp company on the side. Further investigating lead to the discovery of an unlocked back door. Inside the truck box was dark and empty, and it would shield us from the wind. The girls were reluctant while the guys were desperate horn dogs. Using the natural skills God gave us we coaxed them ‘til their noses were running and their frozen ears were about to break off.<br /><br />We all stepped inside and leaving the door opened a crack, we paired off to our own dark corners. Soon there was enough heat to stop the shivering and all that could be heard was the sounds of inexperienced kissing.<br /><br />I barely made it to first base, but it was a night I would never forget.<div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-30657073784271217812009-01-16T22:06:00.007-05:002009-01-16T22:52:51.582-05:00Signs, Signs, Everywhere Are Signs<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/c_KFbS5A4Ng&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/c_KFbS5A4Ng&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><b>On a Maternity Room door:</b><br />"Push. Push. Push."<br /><br /><b>At an Optometrist's Office:</b><br />"If you don't see what you're looking for, you've come to the right place."<br /><br /><b>In a Veterinarian's waiting room:</b><br />"Be back in 5 minutes. Sit! Stay!"<br /><br /><b>In the front yard of a Funeral Home:</b><br />"Drive carefully. We'll wait."<br /><br /><b>On an Electrician's truck:</b><br />"Let us remove your shorts."<br /><br /><b>Sign over a Gynecologist's Office:</b> <br />"Dr. Jones, at your cervix."<br /><br />This one brought my plumber some business ...<br /><b>On a Plumber's truck:</b><br />"We repair what your husband fixed."<br /><br />That was a little fun from an old e-mail I had saved.<br />For more fun ... check out this new blogger.<br />See what he has to say about "signs".<br />He's only two-posts-old.<br /><I><b><a href="http://donsinsideout.blogspot.com/"target="new">From The Inside Out</a></I></b><div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-54124901441012368432009-01-15T07:54:00.005-05:002009-01-15T08:10:37.154-05:00Expose Yourselves!<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sdGx7zZGMXA/SW80Q4y154I/AAAAAAAAAdc/8heUVTH9TJg/s1600-h/lurk.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 229px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sdGx7zZGMXA/SW80Q4y154I/AAAAAAAAAdc/8heUVTH9TJg/s400/lurk.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291505551911806850" /></a>If you’re here … expose yourself.<br />I’m not going to mix words, plain and simple, come out!<br /><br />I spent the past few days catching up on reading posts from my favorite bloggers. Do you know what I found? Many of them are celebrating (That’s what they call it.) National Delurking Week. It’s the first I’ve heard of it. I guess I’m still a rookie.<br /><br />Anyway … I researched it.<br />It seems to have originated at <I><a href=" http://www.breastfeeding123.com/national-delurking-week-2009/"target="new">Breastfeeding123.com</a></I>.<br />I know. I know. Who would want to lurk around a website like that? All those moms talking about boobs and such.<br />But, apparently, readers do lurk. Not me of course.<br />I was there just doing research … on “lurking” not “boobs”.<br />Hey! Stay on the subject.<br /><br />So these other bloggers have asked their readers, who never comment, to “delurk” or “expose" themselves by commenting and saying hello.<br />An example would be …<br /><b><I>“Hi PracticallyJoe … I’m Louie the Lurker and I admit I’ve been coming by to read your posts without commenting, you are a pissa!”</I></b><br /><br />See … pretty easy, right?<br />You can even come out anonymously if you’re too shy to say <b>whom</b> you are … although I think it’s a bit creepy. I don’t care. Do it anyway.<br />But if you do post anonymously … a clue would be nice … I love guessing.<br />BTW … MS Word changed my “who” to “whom” … you see … Microsoft has been lurking and is playing along!<br /><br />I’ve witnessed hundreds, even thousands of lurkers coming out of the woodwork at the posts I visited celebrating this phenomena. I expect nothing less.<br />You crazies who expose yourselves here regularly … I’d like to hear from you as well. Do you have lurkers?<br />Have they ever exposed themselves to you?<div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-48727244799850456932009-01-11T03:09:00.005-05:002009-01-11T03:52:55.482-05:00The Seven Wonders of Joe<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUxR0Sfv224K88_kjmRjz3GAxGLHcaAQzODF7u_n8KEWawdih1OMi-gsWw9tdtLguYcRlWWKzMwx9MY5L79mU5fXlqLLZeeeX7E6kTAE7emlF3lvUgpB9uDfYvoQwtla8dlKfnqqnlEtl-/s1600-h/manicure.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUxR0Sfv224K88_kjmRjz3GAxGLHcaAQzODF7u_n8KEWawdih1OMi-gsWw9tdtLguYcRlWWKzMwx9MY5L79mU5fXlqLLZeeeX7E6kTAE7emlF3lvUgpB9uDfYvoQwtla8dlKfnqqnlEtl-/s400/manicure.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289953384589537954" /></a><br />A few days ago I was tagged with a meme by FrogMama of <I><a href=" http://frogsinmyformula.blogspot.com/2009/01/yep-just-me-hugh-and-couple-of-st.html"target="new">Frogs in My Formula.</a></I> Usually I avoid these like the plague. Well, not really. I was asked once before and played along. I’m such a pushover. I’m to divulge seven random things about me, Practically Joe. <br /><br />It’s about time you knew … so here goes.<br /><br /><b><I>I always have at least 67 cents in my pocket.</b></I><br />Whenever I leave the house, in my right pocket you would find two quarters, one dime, one nickel and two pennies. Why? I’m not sure.<br />I don’t always come home with them, so it sometimes makes it difficult the next day to replace them. I tried unsuccessfully one time to get through the day with an extra quarter instead of a nickel after scouring the closet, turning pockets inside out and rifling through my wife’s purse. Couldn’t do it. I had to stop and make change at a local convenience store.<br /><br /><b><I>For years, I had to wear a wig.</b></I><br />It was a short hair wig. I wore it during the early seventies. I wore it one weekend a month. I tucked my long hair into a nylon stocking and then under the wig. I wore it until I was ordered by my Lieutenant to remove it from my head. I had to cut my hair that day or end up in National Guard prison. <br /><br /><b><I>I’m afraid of giraffes.</b></I><br />I don’t like them. They’re scary. They’re not cute. If you don’t believe me you will have to check this out …<br /><I><a href="http://practicallywisdom.blogspot.com/2008/05/truth-about-giraffes.html"target="new">The Truth about Giraffes</a></I><br /><br /><b><I>I had a heart attack over the telephone.</b></I><br />I was in New York on a business trip.<br />My wife was home in Massachusetts.<br />I was feeling ill and retreated to my hotel room. I called my wife to tell her I wasn’t feeling well. She said it sounded like I was having a heart attack. I passed out and had one. <br />Luckily she had the smarts to hang up and call back to notify the front desk.<br /><br /><b><I>I wrote three weekly columns for a newspaper.</b></I><br />One of the columns was about family life. I wrote a lot about my daughters. It was torture for them. They hated that I always wrote stories that caused them embarrassment. I was constantly in the doghouse.<br />I learned my lesson and now mostly write about my wife.<br /><i>"Uh-uh honey … For better or for worse."</i><br /><br /><b><I>I have an extraordinary talent of solving word puzzles.</b></I><br />I do quiptoquotes in pen. I should probably work for the government deciphering secret codes. I’m also amazing with word jumbles. I solve them in nanoseconds. Check this out …<br />ncaphis … spinach<br />natabylltb … blatantly<br />pnoanidtesmitp … disappointment<br />Am I fn great at this or what!<br /><br />Lastly …<br /><br /><b><I>I enjoy getting manicures.</b></I><br />Look … The word “man” is right there in front. If that’s not enough for you, break it down … “manic” and “cures”.<br />There you go … cures manic. It’s therapeutic. <br />But, there was this "one" problem. I was running out of salons to go to in the neighborhood. I’d been asked not to return in about 15 different Asian dialects.<br />I can’t help myself. Once they get to the part where they massage my hands, the first finger they pull I always make a farting noise. Don’t Asian dads play that with their kids? I was having to tip really big to get a second appointment.<br />I’ve been a record three times to Leilie, my current manicurist. She gets me. When I walk in the door she says to all her fellow workers … <b><I>“hei tawndah sing-song sing song faw ding-ling bwoooomp”</b></I>… and they all smile and giggle. Then when the time comes, she announces … <I><b>”I pull fingers now.”</I></b> … and they all join in … <b>”bwoooomp!”</b><br /><br />So there you have it!<br />I'm practically an average Joe!<div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-36634755804184763622009-01-07T12:39:00.008-05:002009-01-07T12:58:15.943-05:00"Good Morning Joe."<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsRa4q0UMHE_q6M-HIhH3QP5ST6oeoCs6KbmjhU7l3cetrZR4LpHhRRdnkKRDcRKCN5s1uJ8byzntT8eeV0qnf1cjD7lWXtT7El-mYkJNdlSBJ_3iuFdcKbQaD3YiY8DFt-mxUla-R820p/s1600-h/screem.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsRa4q0UMHE_q6M-HIhH3QP5ST6oeoCs6KbmjhU7l3cetrZR4LpHhRRdnkKRDcRKCN5s1uJ8byzntT8eeV0qnf1cjD7lWXtT7El-mYkJNdlSBJ_3iuFdcKbQaD3YiY8DFt-mxUla-R820p/s400/screem.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288610021970634978" /></a><I>"Look, I said don’t put the sauce over the steak, tuck it under it."</I><br /><I><b>"Joe, you’re kidding, right? How do I do that? It’s Chocolate Mousse?"</I></b><br /><I>"No, I mean it! Just do it! Use a pen or a pencil if you need to."</I><br /><I><b>"Joe, the new hostess is dancing on a table."</I></b><br /><I>"Quick, shut down the music!”</I><br /><I><b>"Joe, Prince is pissed we unplugged his guitar."</I></b><br /><I>"Crap! Anyone see my pants?”</I><br /><br />Opens eyes.<br />Rubs eyes.<br />Yawns.<br />Looks at the time.<br />Throws off covers.<br />Swings legs over side of bed.<br />Looks around.<br />Stands up.<br />Scratches.<br />Stretches,<br />More scratches.<br />Walks into bathroom.<br />Lifts seat and aims.<br />More scratching while listening to babbling brook.<br />Flushes, puts seat down (well trained).<br />Washes hands, wets face, looks in mirror.<br />Yawns again … Scratches again.<br />Picks up eyeglasses from dresser and puts them on.<br />Like every morning … walks from bedroom across to guestroom to checkout street scene, glimpse at the weather, see if car was stolen.<br />But … today …<br /><b><I>"YYYYYEEEEEEEEEIIIIIKKKKKEEEEESSSSS! OMG! WTFruitcake!"</I></b><br /><br />Visibly shaken.<br />Picks up phone.<br />Dials. Hears ring. Hears recording. Presses #2. Presses #1. Waits …<br /><I><b>"Pharmacy, How can I help you?"</I></b><br />Still shaking …<br /><I>"Honey, it’s me. Thanks for the near heart attack."</I><br /><I><b>"Oh, ha ha ha, I forgot to tell you about that. I bought it for Lucia. Sorry."</I></b><br /><I>"Great. Bye."</I><br />Click.<br />Scratch.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF50Tg5GNCO5e36DgHew0E_8Q8WE8wNjhE1u-L-MStFe5DYJ9ORujcF_U1bpHpXe7HLyiVsACZIaFEMrsepG7PS1wPzRH83vq7QIgcjixDBYyTSSpjN8TfCH1H1-ctEyd93fiPQd0eyX_2/s1600-h/bear.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 280px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF50Tg5GNCO5e36DgHew0E_8Q8WE8wNjhE1u-L-MStFe5DYJ9ORujcF_U1bpHpXe7HLyiVsACZIaFEMrsepG7PS1wPzRH83vq7QIgcjixDBYyTSSpjN8TfCH1H1-ctEyd93fiPQd0eyX_2/s400/bear.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288610731896227378" /></a> <i>Our new 5 foot guest.</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-20371087550971520162008-12-30T22:05:00.007-05:002008-12-30T22:49:59.898-05:00Let's Talk<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGfhfL2ByITg8XqDXRyTqGJLfpVZ6epH-9sFNvvA1DW6dZwPCNlWYZRl_VhgtF17NW8bmLSg1J1oKAl6Z0WoLDJrvw2CIRI07hkTiDUUamM68OC-JBAzNV7o-mK1vLc-MW-1uHmPRLo8r/s1600-h/motivator2205019.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 330px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZGfhfL2ByITg8XqDXRyTqGJLfpVZ6epH-9sFNvvA1DW6dZwPCNlWYZRl_VhgtF17NW8bmLSg1J1oKAl6Z0WoLDJrvw2CIRI07hkTiDUUamM68OC-JBAzNV7o-mK1vLc-MW-1uHmPRLo8r/s400/motivator2205019.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285788608153545778" /></a><I><b>"Come on, Luke Three, aren’t you hungry?"</I></b><br /><I>"Honey, he’s not going to answer you."</I><br />Since the kids have moved out, we have decided that it’s difficult enough to just take care of me, so we both agreed … No Pets.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0q0ODa5b9J7VZlZ7iBGJ6s24OLa4PAnnd7CoMonJe1I-l4-EU2Cbf-iSzReOdaOyu3VWmgjoLVwx0SBNIOG65tK5YcWQ1KrZJUsOC2hOPCHYS4XOpeEJndEFFfRvqAdAwdQoLfripnRqw/s1600-h/beta-fish.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0q0ODa5b9J7VZlZ7iBGJ6s24OLa4PAnnd7CoMonJe1I-l4-EU2Cbf-iSzReOdaOyu3VWmgjoLVwx0SBNIOG65tK5YcWQ1KrZJUsOC2hOPCHYS4XOpeEJndEFFfRvqAdAwdQoLfripnRqw/s200/beta-fish.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285788284817975970" /></a><br />That didn’t stop my wife from bringing home “Luke Three”. He, or she, is a Beta fish. Oh, yes, there was “Luke” and “Luke Two”. My wife still calls this latest one “Luke Two”. I argued, there was already one. She said there were three others. Then one was missing. It may have been named “Luke One” … and if it had been “Luke One”, then which one would just plain “Luke” be?<br />Technically, “Luke” would be “Luke One” as well, right? I was so confused.<br />She finally put me straight … there was “Luke” and all that followed would be named “Luke Too”.<br /><I>Welcome to my marriage!</I><br />Anyway … how she names our fish isn’t the point.<br />The point I’m making is this … she talks to it.<br />When she taps the top of the tank and shakes in some food, Luke responds by rising to the top to eat. Luke never utters a word back.<br /><br /><I><b>"Paulie! Furio! Nana and Papa are here. Come say hello."</I></b><br />Our youngest one and her husband have cats.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDJ4GPjP6PaOYaCX9pEtDhzt_zFpizI2AAPpyKRQserRYa2lJIJPMt7988HVzJS9H4GbwPuav_cFwWBysge9QIiUmHHTfW-XvJPvyI0MWfPchbKDNxqH9JdMxTb12_bxYKsJmI-NA-Jnup/s1600-h/cats.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDJ4GPjP6PaOYaCX9pEtDhzt_zFpizI2AAPpyKRQserRYa2lJIJPMt7988HVzJS9H4GbwPuav_cFwWBysge9QIiUmHHTfW-XvJPvyI0MWfPchbKDNxqH9JdMxTb12_bxYKsJmI-NA-Jnup/s200/cats.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285788100867465906" /></a><br />They always converse with their cats, as most cat owners do.<br />Nana, my wife, talks to them too.<br /><I><b>"Paulie … ah, here’s the big boy."</I></b><br /><I><b>"Furio … Where are you? Come give Nana a kiss."</I></b><br />Paulie is … the bigger boy … but Furio … never gives her a kiss. Cats hardly ever do what they’re told.<br />The cats respond more to the sound of their box of food being shaken than any words you say to them. You shake … they come. Other than a <I><b>“meow”</b></I> Paulie and Furio never utter a word.<br /><br /><I><b>"Chief, sit! Chief, stay!"</I></b><br />Our second-born (by six minutes) and her husband own a dog. His name is Chief.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHp-al5xZFuhUaCqPIdmWKoctaxf2JNg0jf-Jakdlbh7xcNrpRujH6lJtxnfYMpY_CPS-IRU5MylNN0wlkFo2YMV_8m62ISADd46WoOAOa0uRanzQscROuvxPWdRDGgY0AJk7LYvt1ubWp/s1600-h/Chief.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHp-al5xZFuhUaCqPIdmWKoctaxf2JNg0jf-Jakdlbh7xcNrpRujH6lJtxnfYMpY_CPS-IRU5MylNN0wlkFo2YMV_8m62ISADd46WoOAOa0uRanzQscROuvxPWdRDGgY0AJk7LYvt1ubWp/s200/Chief.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285787876995735986" /></a><br /><I><b>"Chief, speak!"</I></b><br /><I><b>“Rrrrrrrrrruff!”</b></I><br />Okay. We’re moving a little further up the intelligence ladder here.<br />There’s only one way I can think of when we’d actually hear a recognizable and appropriate word come out of Chief’s mouth … tell Chief to speak, after asking him how conversations go between Papa and Nana.<br />Other than the word “rough” (and Chief spells it wrong) … they always talk to him and Chief never utters a word.<br /><br /><I><b>"Lucia, what are you trying to say. Please repeat that. "</I></b><br />Our first-born (by six minutes) and her husband gave us our first grandchild.<br />Her name is Lucia.<br />We all talk to Lucia and at seventeen-months-old she is beginning to talk back to us. We can understand a word or two but the communications between us are a bit frustrating to say the least. Her Nana’s conversational skills and Italian mannerisms definitely stand out. <br />We talk to Lucia and Lucia utters a few back to us. We just wish we understood her. Check out this “father-daughter conversation …<p><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/y19K1uTcSH0&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/y19K1uTcSH0&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&hl=en&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-50967856434315237482008-12-29T13:52:00.007-05:002008-12-29T14:56:59.724-05:00T-Shirt Friday on Monday<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqGdiLcN-PtFLNJnnbSU1WmJzrfkVSv-qrSvtfpC83OmOz0ykJGQWJi2X5cZjF9HRidRwdfGwBxBn3Yx26-lBTqECEoU9evv5POB75_tSxQAqtICE_y-kWzZ37o1DwJYdN-11Buxl-J5wb/s1600-h/NMShirt.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqGdiLcN-PtFLNJnnbSU1WmJzrfkVSv-qrSvtfpC83OmOz0ykJGQWJi2X5cZjF9HRidRwdfGwBxBn3Yx26-lBTqECEoU9evv5POB75_tSxQAqtICE_y-kWzZ37o1DwJYdN-11Buxl-J5wb/s400/NMShirt.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285290717017356418" /></a><br />This post is being published to play along with a dear fellow blogger, <I><b><a href="http://nursemyra.wordpress.com/2008/12/26/t-shirt-friday-26122008/"target="new">nursemyra</a></I></b>. In wanting to stay healthy and happy, I followed her professional instructions for treating my underactive funny bone.<br /><i>No ... not that one ... although it has been laughed at.</i><br />Anyway ... She has invited everyone to post his or her own T-shirt pic … and so as to keep with the theme she's chosen (above), I dug deep in the t-shirt draw and found this long retired favorite.<br /><br />PLEASE NOTE<br /><I>This license has expired a while ago and although it has never been renewed there are always the flashbacks.</I> (smile/wink)<p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTJxdwgCoUS7rfgX39szRyYRXq6pwg31XupK2xXmd-_ctKAyOq7yUfMkm-hMrPGqIwjwBLyUf005ClOqbLqjPHFtHC_JZtNhyphenhyphen83Z7MFBjf-SbXrvyWFTcVCgTxuVZ4VfOXf2IMXkaH4-8U/s1600-h/TShirt.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTJxdwgCoUS7rfgX39szRyYRXq6pwg31XupK2xXmd-_ctKAyOq7yUfMkm-hMrPGqIwjwBLyUf005ClOqbLqjPHFtHC_JZtNhyphenhyphen83Z7MFBjf-SbXrvyWFTcVCgTxuVZ4VfOXf2IMXkaH4-8U/s400/TShirt.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5285287568228735842" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-44141124781952106702008-12-23T11:24:00.001-05:002008-12-23T11:24:48.802-05:00Papa and His Girls<div style='background-color:#e9e9e9; width: 425px;'><object id='A219197' quality='high' data='http://aka.zero.jibjab.com/client/zero/ClientZero_EmbedViewer.swf?external_make_id=RHv1EbvHOd2nFH6I&service=sendables.jibjab.com&partnerID=ElfYourself' pluginspage='http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' wmode='transparent' height='319' width='425'><param name='wmode' value='transparent'></param><param name='movie' value='http://aka.zero.jibjab.com/client/zero/ClientZero_EmbedViewer.swf?external_make_id=RHv1EbvHOd2nFH6I&service=sendables.jibjab.com&partnerID=ElfYourself'></param><param name='scaleMode' value='showAll'></param><param name='quality' value='high'></param><param name='allowNetworking' value='all'></param><param name='allowFullScreen' value='true' /><param name='FlashVars' value='external_make_id=RHv1EbvHOd2nFH6I&service=sendables.jibjab.com&partnerID=ElfYourself'></param><param name='allowScriptAccess' value='always'></param></object><div style='text-align:center; width:435px; margin-top:6px;'>Send your own <a href='http://www.elfyourself.com'>ElfYourself</a> <a href='http://sendables.jibjab.com/ecards'>eCards</a></div></div><img style="visibility:hidden;width:0px;height:0px;" border=0 width=0 height=0 src="http://counters.gigya.com/wildfire/IMP/CXNID=2000002.0NXC/bHQ9MTIzMDA*OTMzNjM3NSZwdD*xMjMwMDQ5NzAyMjk2JnA9NDE4ODEzJmQ9MjAyNjczJm49YmxvZ2dlciZnPTImdD*mbz*1MWFhMjk5NjRjNmU*YjUwYjY5Nzk3ZThlMzMxN2FlMQ==.gif" /><div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-46014660062970764442008-12-22T09:52:00.007-05:002008-12-23T00:32:06.757-05:00A Link Love Carol<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh953fBXkYQV_DI3325u8uXctoRpM9p1PDvODwvpaoVDvGo5BrisulQ55YOAWe7j-pU-KxlFbCPB4lqGWAL9ouHViEmAadRuGH5LPKRJTl1Zf1BOH-7XWN9pWM0nm7-7FNNmZuNDl72UU3_/s1600-h/gifts.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh953fBXkYQV_DI3325u8uXctoRpM9p1PDvODwvpaoVDvGo5BrisulQ55YOAWe7j-pU-KxlFbCPB4lqGWAL9ouHViEmAadRuGH5LPKRJTl1Zf1BOH-7XWN9pWM0nm7-7FNNmZuNDl72UU3_/s400/gifts.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282642162333345442" /></a>My friend M.I. over at <I><b><a href="http://maliciousintently.blogspot.com/"target="new">Malicious Intent</a></I></b> invited me to participate in a Christmas meme. The challenge was to write my own lyrics to the Twelve Days of Christmas ...<br />(<i><b><a href=" http://www.miditrax.com/xmasmidi/12DaysOfXmas.mid "target="new">Click Here for For Background Melody</a></I></b>).<br />So with Stocking Stuffer Link Love ... Sing along ...<br /><br />On the first day of Christmas,<br />Google sent to me,<br />A place where I can be Practically! <br /><br />On the second day of Christmas, <br />Google sent to me, <br />Two Mental Poos,<br />And a place where I can be Practically! <br /><br />On the third day of Christmas, <br />Google sent to me, <br />Three from Queen Goob, <br />Two Mental Poos,<br />And a place where I can be Practically! <br /><br />On the fourth day of Christmas, <br />Google sent to me, <br />Four of Bee’s Musings, <br />Three from Queen Goob, <br />Two Mental Poos,<br />And a place where I can be Practically! <br /><br />On the fifth day of Christmas, <br />Google sent to me, <br /><i><b>All unmentioned Blogs</i></b>,<br />Four of Bee’s Musings, <br />Three from Queen Goob, <br />Two Mental Poos,<br />And a place where I can be Practically! <br /><br />On the sixth day of Christmas, <br />Google sent to me, <br />Six Offended Bloggers, <br /><i><b>All unmentioned Blogs</i></b>, <br />Four of Bee’s Musings, <br />Three from Queen Goob, <br />Two Mental Poos,<br />And a place where I can be Practically! <br /><br />On the seventh day of Christmas, <br />Google sent to me, <br />Seven Catscratch Divas, <br />Six Offended Bloggers, <br /><i><b>All unmentioned Blogs</i></b>,<br />Four of Bee’s Musings, <br />Three from Queen Goob, <br />Two Mental Poos,<br />And a place where I can be Practically! <br /><br />On the eighth day of Christmas, <br />Google sent to me, <br />Eight Nurse Myra corsets, <br />Seven Catscratch Divas, <br />Six Offended Bloggers, <br /><i><b>All unmentioned Blogs</i></b><br />Four of Bee’s Musings, <br />Three from Queen Goob, <br />Two Mental Poos,<br />And a place where I can be Practically! <br /><br />On the ninth day of Christmas, <br />Google sent to me, <br />Nine Depp Effects, <br />Eight Nurse Myra corsets, <br />Seven Catscratch Divas, <br />Six Offended Bloggers, <br /><i><b>All unmentioned Blogs</i></b>,<br />Four of Bee’s Musings, <br />Three from Queen Goob, <br />Two Mental Poos,<br />And a place where I can be Practically! <br /><br />On the tenth day of Christmas, <br />Google sent to me, <br />Ten Malicious Intents, <br />Nine Depp Effects, <br />Eight Nurse Myra corsets, <br />Seven Catscratch Divas, <br />Six Offended Bloggers, <br /><i><b>All unmentioned Blogs</i></b>,<br />Four of Bee’s Musings, <br />Three from Queen Goob, <br />Two Mental Poos,<br />And a place where I can be Practically! <br /><br />On the eleventh day of Christmas, <br />Google sent to me, <br />Eleven of VE’s Nonsense, <br />Ten Malicious Intents, <br />Nine Depp Effects, <br />Eight Nurse Myra corsets, <br />Seven Catscratch Divas, <br />Six Offended Bloggers, <br /><i><b>All unmentioned Blogs</i></b>,<br />Four of Bee’s Musings, <br />Three from Queen Goob, <br />Two Mental Poos,<br />And a place where I can be Practically! <br /><br />On the twelfth day of Christmas, <br />Google sent to me, <br />Twelve drinks at the <I><b><a href=" http://wildonioncafe.blogspot.com/ "target="new">Wild Onion</a></I></b>, <br />Eleven of <I><b><a href="http://vehow.blogspot.com/"target="new">VE’s Nonsense</a></I></b>, <br />Ten <I><b><a href="http://maliciousintently.blogspot.com/ "target="new">Malicious Intents</a></I></b>, <br />Nine <I><b><a href="http://www.thedeppeffect.com/ "target="new">Depp Effects</a></I></b>, <br />Eight <I><b><a href="http://nursemyra.wordpress.com/"target="new">Nurse Myra</a></I></b> corsets, <br />Seven <I><b><a href="http://rantingdiva.wordpress.com/ "target="new">Catscratch Divas</a></I></b>, <br />Six <I><b><a href="http://www.offendedblogger.com/"target="new">Offended Bloggers</a></I></b>, <br /><i><b>All unmentioned Blogs</i></b>,<br />Four of <I><b><a href="http://beesmusings.blogspot.com/ "target="new">Bee's Musings</a></I></b>, <br />Three from <I><b><a href="http://queengoob.blogspot.com/"target="new">Queen Goob</a></I></b>, <br />Two <I><b><a href="http://midgetmanofsteel.blogspot.com/"target="new">Mental Poos</a></I></b>,<br />And a place where I can be Practically!<br /><br />Happy Holidays to All!<div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-77958381725083562102008-12-17T23:45:00.009-05:002008-12-19T00:00:43.417-05:00Secret Santa Picture Gift Swap<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5H_PiSCGeGDk__26gJyN5fh66tYUi30UpxRYPBXZmsyYeBpSf7-dHcWxrTMP7LIgW6FCA9e0ZRmbvOWO3e6ZPDuN3oaSkOYIW-zyFOD0qsF9tBRGrifde9Y2vGfrci3-xqiQ1PNuDebcw/s1600-h/santa4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 262px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5H_PiSCGeGDk__26gJyN5fh66tYUi30UpxRYPBXZmsyYeBpSf7-dHcWxrTMP7LIgW6FCA9e0ZRmbvOWO3e6ZPDuN3oaSkOYIW-zyFOD0qsF9tBRGrifde9Y2vGfrci3-xqiQ1PNuDebcw/s400/santa4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280653347413864322" /></a>This is my first blogging Christmas and thanks to the hard work and dedication of Bee, at <I><b><a href="http://beesmusings.blogspot.com"target="new">Bee’s Musings</a></I></b>, I received an invitation to join in on the “Secret Santa Can Suck It” picture gift swap.<br />Out of the hat came a fellow blogger’s name I had never heard of before, but I was excited to learn all I could to search for the perfect gift to give.<br /><br />So I put on my hiking boots and headed out to Bum Fuque Egypt where this blogger resides. It didn’t take long to find my blogger, once I was in the Hillbilly sticks I asked directions and was told to follow the empty beer cans and they’d lead me right to the asshole. (BTW … this has already become an adventure for me. Just visiting my Secret Santa recipient has influenced my blogging style … two curses in the same paragraph is a new record for me.)<br /><br />I learned quickly that my new blogger friend was in desperate need of help. From the far side of the chicken coop I witnessed a crafty old fox, a wounded duck and a maniacal woman with a gun. I hit the dirt and snake-crawled back to my computer. <br /><br />I have got to come up with the perfect gift for a lady that calls herself an <I><b><a href="http://sassyopinionated.blogspot.com/2008/11/asshole-song-in-this-blog.html"target="new">asshole,</a></I></b> has a welcoming song on her blog about an asshole, loves sushi, loves vampires and shoots guns. DUCK!!! … No seriously, get up, she’s not here … but …I did decide on the perfect gift thanks to that DUCK!! WAIT! COME ON PEOPLE GET UP! I told you she's <u>not</u> here.<br /><br /><br />Meet Sassy … from none other than … <I><b><a href="http://sassyopinionated.blogspot.com/"target="new">Sassy & Opinionated.</a></I></b> Sassy, right now is in the middle of a crisis. There’s a fox visiting her henhouse. Worst of all, the damn fox attacked and wounded her duck. This fox is very smart and has escaped the crosshairs of Sassy’s gun.<br /><br />My Secret Santa gift to Sassy is a masterful plan, along with the backup needed to rid her of this fox. I’ve hired a team of specialists and spent time and money developing a master plan.<br /><br /><strong>THE TARGET … MR. FOX</strong><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuMjZso1pd_Inf0UeCzGO4PFw5ZFboENI-hsfe1pC51ocmj0_lw6QNB7FkqQWpfuBop7jdnsXqhaQA4urWPvfSenaY01es78tLKi6T5J-Mo4k8lVIGXw1bipmjOumlEAzPNWlP9BQ433NC/s1600-h/MikeFox.jpg"><img style="align:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 93px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuMjZso1pd_Inf0UeCzGO4PFw5ZFboENI-hsfe1pC51ocmj0_lw6QNB7FkqQWpfuBop7jdnsXqhaQA4urWPvfSenaY01es78tLKi6T5J-Mo4k8lVIGXw1bipmjOumlEAzPNWlP9BQ433NC/s200/MikeFox.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280632603340360130" /></a><br />Michael? No … not that one.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Y3jP9MW3ntlAp1S1mE_uwQ8nA0EUw6ycaENLmHjzT3GzNpOeYS_iu26AGbR62AieOnWRJILd6YFhW8huPUhmucz7nuD6TJFB2iXOu7EqXv_YrO6VKgWBAoegr-3_z83rRKM74T2drvOe/s1600-h/Vivica.jpg"><img style="align:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6Y3jP9MW3ntlAp1S1mE_uwQ8nA0EUw6ycaENLmHjzT3GzNpOeYS_iu26AGbR62AieOnWRJILd6YFhW8huPUhmucz7nuD6TJFB2iXOu7EqXv_YrO6VKgWBAoegr-3_z83rRKM74T2drvOe/s200/Vivica.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280632973529028434" /></a><br />Wait, yes! Hmmmm. Vivica? No. Sorry.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItfUofVB7Y24BbIa3tGSG57MFzWgnG1T0V2Rf-nzeJyVjzb5NmeGzpS9vHGRbENlLVLeLSf8foAOpzVBWlsBiw6yPDzpEGKN5QvVOQ6lT3CWNPTOvHToP73JZ3mFj78HWnqgDii32cmya/s1600-h/FoxandDuck.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 110px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiItfUofVB7Y24BbIa3tGSG57MFzWgnG1T0V2Rf-nzeJyVjzb5NmeGzpS9vHGRbENlLVLeLSf8foAOpzVBWlsBiw6yPDzpEGKN5QvVOQ6lT3CWNPTOvHToP73JZ3mFj78HWnqgDii32cmya/s200/FoxandDuck.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280635530753863282" /></a>That's him! Caught in the act by one of our field photographers on our surveillance team, cleverly disguised so not to arouse suspicion.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl80qGbucIwJKRgkWswqHqNtvyGrpgeIxb7Y6vBBVHukAOXwH1cmgeIaaMoAGbvkOLiwgUu7zddgjzn3Zm5rWTXcrY_MhuUj1mQKT5lhW2XxezqG53Psnhuj4_O5ZulMSDBgY-u2L_fXLL/s1600-h/FoxCamera.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 307px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl80qGbucIwJKRgkWswqHqNtvyGrpgeIxb7Y6vBBVHukAOXwH1cmgeIaaMoAGbvkOLiwgUu7zddgjzn3Zm5rWTXcrY_MhuUj1mQKT5lhW2XxezqG53Psnhuj4_O5ZulMSDBgY-u2L_fXLL/s320/FoxCamera.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280637058098847522" /></a><br /><br /><strong>THE DECOYS</strong><br /><br />Our wounded duck is currently in the hospital ... <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtV8vxF1ZN69gd_d2cEj_8I5ScOgwrvej0JwqzqTDHljh54CWVXEYB3uFQRH7zhxMYVJeA75hGOY0Y8LnWr6J3TuSmNCO1N16B7PRUSp1ZPJuBDuFF4yJVKTH1l4B-fQxyUpxM0qD_wvd9/s1600-h/DuckHospital.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtV8vxF1ZN69gd_d2cEj_8I5ScOgwrvej0JwqzqTDHljh54CWVXEYB3uFQRH7zhxMYVJeA75hGOY0Y8LnWr6J3TuSmNCO1N16B7PRUSp1ZPJuBDuFF4yJVKTH1l4B-fQxyUpxM0qD_wvd9/s320/DuckHospital.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280638520715564610" /></a><br /> ... being cared for by the distinguished Dr. Quack <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7zTm4bQimMl4ihgi25NI3MPvrgwu86jgRG9Wp8C_GTI9Mkj9t3vyu__ocBdHGfL9Con2buosToRmlyt3qvGgBukqcapT9ZdVTokgIgDiFKPeWK1QUeqXB3MjfJZctqZPUCpIWB71-KlmS/s1600-h/DuckDoctor2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 168px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7zTm4bQimMl4ihgi25NI3MPvrgwu86jgRG9Wp8C_GTI9Mkj9t3vyu__ocBdHGfL9Con2buosToRmlyt3qvGgBukqcapT9ZdVTokgIgDiFKPeWK1QUeqXB3MjfJZctqZPUCpIWB71-KlmS/s200/DuckDoctor2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280639265459509154" /></a><br /><br /><strong>THE PLAN</strong><br /><br />The plan is to substitute a decoy in the barn …<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghipoQzR26wcjtFQCtAVfdwuicXKx-spp1aLzNAxYy2q4i1CSKRT5azuiZb8onCctIZauLcdvohwR_QkJ6BcjcYsPW7aO2ikXcefvg-eg1268XAc3z92YcmR7hFvl_WfwXgz25DKk4ijSJ/s1600-h/ducktape2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 155px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghipoQzR26wcjtFQCtAVfdwuicXKx-spp1aLzNAxYy2q4i1CSKRT5azuiZb8onCctIZauLcdvohwR_QkJ6BcjcYsPW7aO2ikXcefvg-eg1268XAc3z92YcmR7hFvl_WfwXgz25DKk4ijSJ/s200/ducktape2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280640107216126978" /></a><br />We will also use a fake Dr. Quack. Again … so not to arouse suspicion.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFcoKctVIO3alFohoR69HANVrZSmLfEPkxzFEADtp2B4WrxF2hnqBcr781aVe-6nMPJcU8afExT4WjdBtdReTaTYDuvAHypj7GLOg0M5E89D7pPxdDkhurDW7m8cq7swnNsEANQB6idCLH/s1600-h/DuckDoctor.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 236px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFcoKctVIO3alFohoR69HANVrZSmLfEPkxzFEADtp2B4WrxF2hnqBcr781aVe-6nMPJcU8afExT4WjdBtdReTaTYDuvAHypj7GLOg0M5E89D7pPxdDkhurDW7m8cq7swnNsEANQB6idCLH/s320/DuckDoctor.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280640307889537650" /></a><br />Our professionally trained team members are strategically positioned in the field and are on high alert.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3N4-BK7Sd6lbQtlMoYtF40_5DtGlgUjOfxBIlnyKJ-anUOXZfzQwreFly8T-qSo4FcCfE9WzAtPEghiyGwgnV1C-ibYmFZaKffybws2TckIry9LlPtJYt1bNI8V2xK6FesRgjsXJ1k4kR/s1600-h/CatwithaGun.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 149px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3N4-BK7Sd6lbQtlMoYtF40_5DtGlgUjOfxBIlnyKJ-anUOXZfzQwreFly8T-qSo4FcCfE9WzAtPEghiyGwgnV1C-ibYmFZaKffybws2TckIry9LlPtJYt1bNI8V2xK6FesRgjsXJ1k4kR/s200/CatwithaGun.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280642213765189458" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRP6QgmOSY6WiG0Jk6ewFLXgcZ_mLgDyrPUw9sVZ-hU-8mJGPTQDxg4N3DlunOKjhHJh9WersTTYSAMF7on41jr3GIJ2Dggq7iCTQj0VnBaTklISVVqEzB7FwzbAY55j5JTCRylHs3iV0/s1600-h/FoxGuns3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinRP6QgmOSY6WiG0Jk6ewFLXgcZ_mLgDyrPUw9sVZ-hU-8mJGPTQDxg4N3DlunOKjhHJh9WersTTYSAMF7on41jr3GIJ2Dggq7iCTQj0VnBaTklISVVqEzB7FwzbAY55j5JTCRylHs3iV0/s200/FoxGuns3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280642516271268498" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpDqb3k0sBzFZWSdpySszWQLycNEu4-QOst-ksaTATG0DhsjiHmpZx4p1M8vqLniYVAssSTZ1IuPgDA7p5iPYHj6SewyNg6A40V-uu5ZNR5mMLQudISH1QH3pg5nWd3_miCduf7Zrgcz-/s1600-h/FoxHole3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBpDqb3k0sBzFZWSdpySszWQLycNEu4-QOst-ksaTATG0DhsjiHmpZx4p1M8vqLniYVAssSTZ1IuPgDA7p5iPYHj6SewyNg6A40V-uu5ZNR5mMLQudISH1QH3pg5nWd3_miCduf7Zrgcz-/s200/FoxHole3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280646970450609474" /></a><br /><br /><strong>THE TRAINING</strong><br /><br />Be assured … Lots of preparation has gone into this operation, including and not limited to role playing techniques and battlefield advice from the distinguished General Fox Terrier.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1eSJMxm0dL1_WwSqnyVcS42UqREWWx4-v7pgv6K37XS2UrWzkbynJUwT88-bIRb30bn2uo6YuE6CU_BO6mhFXuOgPuTZEjUNuxmKM69NjlnmV7q6mloUi1GS24koIcSRRgHQEmBsZtixv/s1600-h/fox+training.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1eSJMxm0dL1_WwSqnyVcS42UqREWWx4-v7pgv6K37XS2UrWzkbynJUwT88-bIRb30bn2uo6YuE6CU_BO6mhFXuOgPuTZEjUNuxmKM69NjlnmV7q6mloUi1GS24koIcSRRgHQEmBsZtixv/s200/fox+training.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280644624931700626" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhr5N8fP4N7wC7PVa_E4gqExNhd5tmXUVoofOJn_Te9Kt1BUU-9i-yCUdj5NtmDhybZgqiBvJY22PZmSis1L4GJTLIWDiKLqFHseeqjTxASw9IpJo-FKGf0oGLsPxYKjNj8Xdm0OfqLw6/s1600-h/FoxTerrier.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 159px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuhr5N8fP4N7wC7PVa_E4gqExNhd5tmXUVoofOJn_Te9Kt1BUU-9i-yCUdj5NtmDhybZgqiBvJY22PZmSis1L4GJTLIWDiKLqFHseeqjTxASw9IpJo-FKGf0oGLsPxYKjNj8Xdm0OfqLw6/s200/FoxTerrier.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280647407001482226" /></a><br />Once the target is spotted we will spare no effort to complete our mission.<br />Air support will be brought in to dispose of the culprit and life will once again be good.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjziydcMpHYSume2v-gvD9ZHsQ6OcS8_L_KpRsz7fCu6vI17x6HGk5GRyu7nnBTZXfSrRK-_cWwJjFm1JYExVLu9B2P2YVkNOurzuTSaQ-B789-ertUbgd9d0L0Wq209S5s62-aQnPP13BE/s1600-h/EagleFox.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjziydcMpHYSume2v-gvD9ZHsQ6OcS8_L_KpRsz7fCu6vI17x6HGk5GRyu7nnBTZXfSrRK-_cWwJjFm1JYExVLu9B2P2YVkNOurzuTSaQ-B789-ertUbgd9d0L0Wq209S5s62-aQnPP13BE/s320/EagleFox.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280650960761544322" /></a><br /><br /><strong>THE GIFT ... A SAFER HOMESTEAD</strong><br /><br />Sassy, don’t fear. All the horses, sheep, dogs, cats, chickens and “Ducky” will someday soon be safe from Mr. Fox.<br />So put down your gun, pop open a beer and gather the family to sing some asshole songs.<br />Your Secret Santa will take care of everything.<br /><br />Oh ...I also got you a stocking stuffer.<br />Offering Rodney and Carrington songs on your blog like "Letter to My Penis" ...<br />I thought you might like to listen to something similar but different.<br />Turn up your speakers and ... Enjoy!<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/byDiILrNbM4&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/byDiILrNbM4&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><i><b>"Wishing a very joyful Merry Christmas to Sassy and her Family"</i></b><br /> ... Practically Joe<br /><br />Hey! If you like to see what my Secret Santa gave to me ... <I><b><a href="http://queengoob.blogspot.com/2008/12/secret-santa-can-suck-it-picture-gift.html"target="new">CLICK HERE!</a></I></b><div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com123tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-53674275480120577152008-12-15T17:45:00.006-05:002008-12-15T18:15:39.196-05:00Getting in the Holiday Spirit<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt5RM6aqjstap77epyHePx09zKddOCyuxOMp-jNT9FaQKeYTMrUUkXkC4ugxH8I3GZ7b6BAYaxQgswWlPud7wFyzyJrmu8-Aa8asu7cno7jp2QfApbX8AW3KgI2OPtUleuI8X1l5_v6Rqc/s1600-h/christmas-shopping.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt5RM6aqjstap77epyHePx09zKddOCyuxOMp-jNT9FaQKeYTMrUUkXkC4ugxH8I3GZ7b6BAYaxQgswWlPud7wFyzyJrmu8-Aa8asu7cno7jp2QfApbX8AW3KgI2OPtUleuI8X1l5_v6Rqc/s400/christmas-shopping.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280157014040120386" /></a>It’s Sunday. It’s my day off.<br />While having my coffee, I visited some of my favorite blogs.<br />Suddenly I was feeling some Christmas spirit.<br />It happened while visiting <I><a href="http://beesmusings.blogspot.com"target="new">Bee’s Musings.</a></i><br />She had organized a “Secret Santa Can Suck It!” community blog. Check it out! What a fun idea.<br />I felt invigorated. I was ready to confront my Christmas time duties. I agreed to do some Christmas shopping with my wife.<br />This made her happy.<br /><br />First … because we needed a tree and my wife’s car has the biggest trunk, we decided to take her car. Inside the car …<br /><I><b>"Joe, where are we going first?"</I></b><br /><I>"Well, what’s on our list?"</I><br /><br />I formulated a plan …<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb5YMYOe7-P-tcLVnsmkpYyQSEgv_CA8daqajP51MuSrV2zcBTt4bhN65gZ9H6nkiWM2ytaR7IT1P-LIPZN71uhTRJF2W6iu2hZdf99ZOE8MTH_Acu2K8GphLjlDxNoarNhUiSollhtBox/s1600-h/Route.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb5YMYOe7-P-tcLVnsmkpYyQSEgv_CA8daqajP51MuSrV2zcBTt4bhN65gZ9H6nkiWM2ytaR7IT1P-LIPZN71uhTRJF2W6iu2hZdf99ZOE8MTH_Acu2K8GphLjlDxNoarNhUiSollhtBox/s400/Route.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280152748041008594" /></a>My walk around inspection of my wife’s vehicle alerted me to the fact that two of her tires were under-inflated. From the driver’s seat I immediately noticed that she needed gas. First stop would be a service station along our route.<br />We arrived at our first stop, filled her up and waited for the “FREE” air pump.<br />There was a car at the air pump and there seemed to be a problem. There were two women seeming to have difficulties. I watched as they took the air hose and proceeded to feed it through the driver’s door. I was perplexed. We were now waiting at the pump for 12 minutes to use the air hose. I wondered what could be wrong as I eyed one of the women re-enterer the gas station. I followed her in. She informed the clerk that the hose might be frozen so they ran it inside their vehicle and turned up the heat.<br />The clerk said … <b><I>”Huh?”</b></I> (In his defense … it was 50 degrees outside.) She then said to the clerk …<br /><I><b>"Look, something is wrong, Instead of filling our tire it took all the air out of it and now it’s flat."</I></b><br />Seeing the confused look on the clerk’s face, I stepped in and told the clerk not to worry … I will try to help the woman. This made the woman happy. (as well as the clerk)<br />What I found was that the women were not holding down the “start” button long enough for the air compressor to start. They allowed all the air to escape from their tire wile holding the non-operative nozzle down on the valve so all the air escaped. I properly started the compressor and filled their tire. I was their hero.<br />They obviously thought I was hot and the left smiling and very, very thankful.<br />My wife was not at all impressed.<br />I’m not even sure she was aware of what was going on … she was on her cell phone. I filled her tires and we proceeded to the mall.<br /><br />At the mall, I immediately asked one of those mall cops on a Segway scooter for directions. He moved back and forth while studying his pocket map.<br />My wife commented … <I><b>"I’d like one of those."</I></b><br />I made a mental note, but then quickly erased it as I pictured her on one.<br />At the first store, one that sold baby clothes, we had our first argument, which resulted in me waiting outside the shop. I people watched and had much fun.<br /><br />We proceeded to the next mall where I was going to visit a watch repair shop owned by a guy who owed me money. (Maybe a story for another time.)<br />I replaced a battery on one watch and added a new watchband to another, absolutely free.<br />BOO-YA! <I>”Who knows how to shop, baby?”</I><br />Again, my wife was not impressed.<br /><br />Next … It was off to Lowes. Why Lowes? I had a $10 off coupon.<br />That would make our Christmas tree cost $10 less.<br />Do I know how to shop or what!<br />Alas … They were all sold out.<br /><br />Well … I guess we’ll head home.<br />Yeah right!<br /><I><b>"I know a place we can buy a tree."</I></b><br />I followed her lead which took us off my planned route.<br />We purchased a “Charlie Brown” special for $25.<br /><br />Well … I guess NOW we can head home.<br /><I><b>"Joe, I’d really like a Dunkin’ Donuts coffee."</I></b><br />Of course! Without fail, anytime we hit the road, for whatever reason, she wants to stop for coffee along the way. I think she does it purposely to aggravate me.<br />Nah! She wouldn’t do that. Would she?<br /><br />We finally made it home.<br />Shortly after our arrival our youngest and her husband came by to finish the job I had started when I fell and broke my ribs. Gratefully, my wife and I helped them.<br />I had to retrieve the notorious ladder out of the shed for them.<br /><I>"Hello, Mr. Ladder, remember me?"</I><br />I swear Mr. Ladder chuckled.<br /><br />So, that was my Sunday, my day off.<br />I hope you enjoyed it half as much as I did.<br />Soon, I should find out who I have as my “Secret Santa”.<br />Though I’m not a big fan of memes and such, I’m really looking forward to participating in Bee’s, “Secret Santa Can Suck It!” extravaganza.<br />I wonder who will get me as their Secret Santa? … Stay tuned.<div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-67847551025330511442008-12-09T01:36:00.008-05:002008-12-09T01:53:15.865-05:00Mr. Mucus Paid a Visit<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXiFaYz5lUTcmFF-Y0aImCZjAoIvhCLt95niYiJu69wCrqhdbpC9qGHj8obEBbo7D1vamlgrWaKkhpp7FrA9Qn8U3kYFIRSPkXhLtU6KPZfln3AIniag4Nv-yuTp8uyx7Ioz_eX_WyiUM_/s1600-h/mucus1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 376px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXiFaYz5lUTcmFF-Y0aImCZjAoIvhCLt95niYiJu69wCrqhdbpC9qGHj8obEBbo7D1vamlgrWaKkhpp7FrA9Qn8U3kYFIRSPkXhLtU6KPZfln3AIniag4Nv-yuTp8uyx7Ioz_eX_WyiUM_/s400/mucus1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277675848317689666" /></a>The little guy above, who some may know as “Mr. Mucus”, has caused me pain and money. How? Well, first of all, I’m sure he had something to do with my recent cough which just about killed me as my broken ribs were healing. Then, it was expensive getting rid of him.<br />No, I didn’t hire the Orkin Man, he admitted he was no match for Mr. Mucus.<br /><br />So who is this Mr. Mucus?<br />He is like the black sheep of the mucus family. I’m sure you are familiar with some of the clan. Like cousin Phlegm who resides in your respiratory tract and his sister, Snot, who lives up your nose. The mucus family really has a lot of members and the live quietly in our bodies performing important jobs like keeping crap out of our lungs, filtering the air we breath and even helping to soften food making it easier to swallow. I’m sure you’re happy I shared that little tidbit. <br /><br />Now from what I researched, Mr. Mucus is a bully and likes to wreak havoc when our bodies are weak. He likes to mess with Phlegm and loves to screw with Snot.<br />Sometimes he makes Snot sweat resulting in a continuous flow of liquid Snot running down our nostrils and on to our upper lip. Other times he causes Snot to dry up like an old piece of fruit, blocking the nasal passages and causing us to breathe through our mouths. None of the Mucus family hang out in our mouths unless we hack them up, then it's ... don't swallow ... spit! God knows what enters our lungs when we breathe through our mouths with none of the Mucuses around. During all this, cousin Phlegm is all eff’d up, dazed, confused and walking into lung walls. So we wheeze, cough, spit, sneeze, blow, sniffle and cry. Well, not me, but some people cry.<br /><br />My personal problem with Mr. Mucus was this …<br />Just out of the hospital, I couldn’t breathe too well and I was chilled all the time.<br />Because I was cold, we ran the heat, which is a forced hot air system.<br />The hot air caused a low humidity level in our home.<br />Mr. Mucus dropped by to say hello.<br />My wife had me breathing steam from pots of boiling water with a dishtowel over my head. After a two-minute session, feeling like steamed broccoli, I was able to blow dried fruit out of my nose, making it easy to breathe again.<br /><br />Mr. Mucus also tickled my throat and caused me with my broken ribs to flop around on the floor after every cough. We finally chased Mr. Mucus away after buying a $175 humidifier.<br /><br /><I><b>"Joe, it seems to be raining in the kitchen."</I></b><br /><I>"I told you we bought a good one!"</I><div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-87331473159910556902008-04-23T00:20:00.007-04:002008-12-08T23:55:46.998-05:00My Little Brown FriendsThe temperature reached into the 70’s today.<br />Tomorrow is expected to be warmer.<br />It’s time for spring clean up.<br />Fall clean up didn’t go too well.<br />I was waiting for the trees in the backyard to drop their leaves.<br />They finally did … when it snowed.<br />I tried to time it right.<br />Of course, Mom nature just couldn’t wait another weekend.<br />Well, at least the leaves couldn’t find their way into the neighbors yard now. I always worried about that. They pay a landscaper to keep out my leaves. Sometimes they would sneak back over.<br />But, that was months ago. They’re still here in my yard. Waiting.<br />They look a bit crumpled and sad.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrsCZXIfD4kZ4dJfdIL6NWZV1Nt9ODzj6hdmr1Ett0S_JP6wWx4ZZKkXSiIXi2P7jc4eIUOjv34gGfmQCvQy2ZGh1QiqhlGc_ZIQAqoZFn-RCQ71JWglgmMgJnGPecEqNi1JqAI8ABlBiu/s1600-h/BrownLeaves.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrsCZXIfD4kZ4dJfdIL6NWZV1Nt9ODzj6hdmr1Ett0S_JP6wWx4ZZKkXSiIXi2P7jc4eIUOjv34gGfmQCvQy2ZGh1QiqhlGc_ZIQAqoZFn-RCQ71JWglgmMgJnGPecEqNi1JqAI8ABlBiu/s400/BrownLeaves.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192325716523499682" /></a><br /><b><I>”Why, Joe, why? Why have you left us here so long?”</b></I>, I swear I hear them asking.<br />I don’t know how to make it up to them.<br />I’m ashamed of myself for being so neglectful.<br />I watch in pain as the wind blows.<br />They struggle to get up to seek refuge in the neighbor’s (way too green) backyard.<br />But alas, they stay stuck in the dead grass I didn’t have a chance to mow … did I mentioned it snowed early last winter.<br />Once, during the winter, after a heavy snowfall, I fired up the snow blower to clear the usually walkways around the house.<br />While I blew the snow around, I thought of the poor leaves, smothered under all that snow, probably freezing, my toes were.<br />I veered off the path leading to the back porch stairs, then onto the back yard and it was awful. I think I killed some of them.<br />Most of them landed atop the fresh snow. Some mixed into the snow. Others got torn to shreds in my snow blower.<br />I’m not sure if anyone saw it happen. I looked around. No one was there.<br />I quickly covered them with handfuls of snow.<br />I occasionally have frozen leaf nightmares from the incident.<br />Last week the neighbor’s landscapers were back.<br />I was bringing in the rubbish barrels. I saw them pulling up in their truck. I hurried to get back into the house, trying not to make eye contact. Too late, I fell for it. They beeped the horn and I instinctively turned to wave.<br />I think they like me. I wonder why?<br />In the morning I will tend to the little squatters.<br />Today I bought two packages of those tall, brown paper, leaf bags.<br />My plan is to gather up my little brown friends and send them on a journey to the waste management incinerator for a proper disposal.<br />It's hard to live with myself, after what I put them through this harsh winter.<br />Will they ever forgive me?<br />I just hope it’s not too hot to work outside tomorrow.<div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-1178215397075424792008-04-28T01:37:00.004-04:002008-12-08T23:55:46.864-05:00The Quest for my HeadIt’s time for another haircut. Three weeks ago was the first time I ever stepped into Tim’s Hairstyling for Men.<br />I’ve been trying out new barbers for a few months now … seeking the right artist to continue landscaping my head.<br />I can only remember as far back to when I was about 12 years old when my barber was “Charlie the barber”. He owned a shop right across the street; my dad got his hair cut at Charlie’s.<br />My fondest childhood memories include sitting in Charlie’s shop on top of a piece of padded wood, which firmly spanned the arms of the barber’s chair to bring me to a grown-up’s height. The shop smelled like hair tonic and cigarette smoke and Charlie always coughed so much from smoking I thought he was going to bring up a lung. Charlie was my barber until the Beatles made their debut on American television. I remember watching them and going to school the next day with my hair combed down in front of my eyes instead of the slicked back look I wore through most of grammar school. It was goodbye barber, hello stylist for the next 20 years.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgSENF6MAkv8rY8B3pPxmHhvoNdYY1JWnPbF2cpQqmZDYmhpHVBVGwrwS_L9iwXeSY3ZhEO5WLJrW9XXVuTzDcWPfECNBurozTbjB7kgu56oLDQc_XJkZIwIFOZmsYEBvF-6u18dNMtjn9/s1600-h/Hippy2Pics.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgSENF6MAkv8rY8B3pPxmHhvoNdYY1JWnPbF2cpQqmZDYmhpHVBVGwrwS_L9iwXeSY3ZhEO5WLJrW9XXVuTzDcWPfECNBurozTbjB7kgu56oLDQc_XJkZIwIFOZmsYEBvF-6u18dNMtjn9/s200/Hippy2Pics.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194564554125885714" /></a><br />I let my hair grow really long after turning 18. When I turned 20 and my hair fell past my shoulders, I had a traumatic experience; an army barber at Fort Jackson quickly shaved it all off. There were no mirrors there; I could only look down and watch my falling hair cover my feet. To this day I can’t look down at the clippings on the floor around the barber’s chair while I’m getting my haircut without reliving that frightful day.<br />It wasn’t until my mid thirties when I grew tired of the long hair.<br />That’s when the quest began.<br />I visited quite a few barbershops; seeking out a barber I could trust to handle my precious head. It really has been an adventure.<br />There was Tony the Barber who loved to gamble and once bet me he could cut my hair while only looking at me through the mirror. He shed blood from my left ear. I moved on.<br />I met Federico in the next shop I visited. He smoked cigars and apparently ate a lot of garlic. I couldn’t breathe. I moved on.<br />Mickey Scissors was a unique individual. Don’t call him Mickey. If you did, he would say, <I><b> “Please, Mickey Scissors, call me Mickey Scissors”. </I></b> Ironically, he would only use electric sheers when he cut hair. Really, he didn’t use scissors.<br />There was a stuttering barber named C-c-c-cleo who uncontrollably spit when he stuttered on P’s, a barber named Dave who always wore fatigues and used dull scissors … <b><I>”ouch, ouch again, ouch again, ouch”</b></I>… and Frank the Barber who was so slow that my hair was growing faster than he could cut it.<br />“Paul the barber” cut my hair just the way I liked it and as a bonus he was one of the very few barbers that still used hot foam around the ears and nape of the neck, making the final trim using a straight edge razor. Unfortunately for me lots of other men were equally pleased and so I would find myself sometimes waiting up to two hours to get in his chair.<br />After almost two years visiting Paul’s shop it became just too inconvenient for me to wait and wait and wait. Anyway, now in my fifties, I have a lot less to work with on the top of my dome.<br />So the quest continues … Could Tim be “the one”?<div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-24458410210919163552008-05-12T23:24:00.011-04:002008-12-08T23:55:46.692-05:00The Truth About GiraffesI just survived the finale of “Survivor Micronesia”.<br />I was marooned on my couch wearing nothing but my sweat suit and socks. I was also allowed a few personal items.<br />I had three pillows, two remotes, a phone, a diet coke, a box of crackers, a chicken sandwich, a slice of calzone and some dove chocolates.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWn0TGZ_AB5MsXEKzPLpm8K431M2WaLmWUNdny5Cw_Apax8aihOsZcqXIIwO2PFkFisZaGwDqsxcM_sfFJWzE_cjjq2h7G_gTSVLkvpjYp3OENSS73ZSIcI5CHde0sXPvy1bu9nldkdM2q/s1600-h/Posterior.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWn0TGZ_AB5MsXEKzPLpm8K431M2WaLmWUNdny5Cw_Apax8aihOsZcqXIIwO2PFkFisZaGwDqsxcM_sfFJWzE_cjjq2h7G_gTSVLkvpjYp3OENSS73ZSIcI5CHde0sXPvy1bu9nldkdM2q/s200/Posterior.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199699445289618034" /></a><br />I guess you can say I prepared myself well so I wouldn’t need to leave my little island, but I forgot the empty jar and had to give myself a quick bathroom break during one of the commercials. I made it through the entire three hours suffering only from a numb gluteus maximus.<br><br>When the program neared its end, viewers were treated to a preview of next season’s <I><b>Survivor: Gabon – Earth’s Last Eden</I></b>. Gabon is a West African country where pygmies originated and now is home to The Fang People who are ruled by a man named Bongo. They showed pictures of Gabon, most of them were clips showing large scary animals. I am writing CBS tonight withdrawing my audition tape. I hope it’s not too late.<br><br>Wild animals are not my favorite creatures. There, on the TV screen, were surfing hippopotami.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwZj-zpJKe5Cts37lorsdoLbfW8jmKSt6plFiUuU2qyLfG13h78AC9YLvIuj0hfmB-hnSpojtFY9z_64uOKUal9xqKj3q5lyZPID6JEMO2s5eCMHlRpzFr3JApa6tKIuby7tfSWlpQL4io/s1600-h/Hippo_skull.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwZj-zpJKe5Cts37lorsdoLbfW8jmKSt6plFiUuU2qyLfG13h78AC9YLvIuj0hfmB-hnSpojtFY9z_64uOKUal9xqKj3q5lyZPID6JEMO2s5eCMHlRpzFr3JApa6tKIuby7tfSWlpQL4io/s200/Hippo_skull.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5199700480376736386" /></a> Just because the word hippopotami ends in “ami” (excuse my French) doesn’t mean they are friendly. No sir …I’ve learned that the hippopotamus has killed more humans than any other animal. (Just check out the picture of a hippo skull.) And, did you know these fat bastards, could easily outrun a human? (please excuse my French again) I’m not so sure they can’t chase you up a tree either.<br><br>I’ve also read there are lots of African frogs there and adult frogs eat other animals smaller than themselves, including other frogs. The Goliath frog can grow to the size of a baby deer! Imagine crossing paths with the biggest of all Goliath frogs. When I croak the last thing I want to hear is a croak and a burp.<br><br>And everyone close to me knows that giraffes scare the bejesus out of me. Have you ever seen a more hideous creature? Did you know that when they walk both right legs move forward at the same time, then both left legs? How the hell do they not fall over? Then there is the bizarre neck, the nose-bleed height and those hairy horns. Also, the giraffe has a very, very freakishly long tongue. I think most of the giraffe's tongue is packed neatly into its neck. The giraffe uses its tongue like a monkey uses its tail. Really, it’s called prehensile, look it up! That’s how giraffes swing from treetop to treetop.<br>And, if you don’t see giraffes as I do, let me leave you with this little film clip.<br>"Oh, they’re so cute!"<br><br><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/C7HCIGFdBt8&hl=en"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/C7HCIGFdBt8&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-80586715409977210172008-05-14T01:26:00.009-04:002008-12-08T23:55:46.422-05:00What the Flock!Today I wasted way too much time searching the Internet.<br />It began when I received an e-mail commenting about my fear of giraffes. The reader assured me they were harmless, social animals. It was also mentioned that they travel in herds. That got me thinking about the word “herd”.<br />Come along for another ride on <i><b><a href="http://practicallywisdom.blogspot.com/2008/04/my-brain-train.html">My Brain Train</a></i></b>.<br>(Click.) Animals that travel in herds are called “Ungulates” (hoofed animals).<br />Some examples are horses, sheep, scary giraffes and buffalo.<br />So, what about the hoof less animals: how do they roll?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtLLMuz320oWeiMMeMJeSmiJD15CfQDXasH2PQii4qHQCKxdUMojCncPZJSCt47wnM-U1Wd0DLfgnEnMHRfHrLNOkBTr2-D5bdfmVSB-rKXvJZJmP7LdlrZxeFMtxGJmY4uQC0wSinnUT2/s1600-h/geese.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtLLMuz320oWeiMMeMJeSmiJD15CfQDXasH2PQii4qHQCKxdUMojCncPZJSCt47wnM-U1Wd0DLfgnEnMHRfHrLNOkBTr2-D5bdfmVSB-rKXvJZJmP7LdlrZxeFMtxGJmY4uQC0wSinnUT2/s200/geese.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200102747013679762" /></a> (Click.)<br />The first thing that popped into my brain was a “gander”, which I thought was a group of gooses. After I took a “gander” I learned that a “gander’ is a male goose and more than one is actually called “geese” and they travel in “flocks”.<br> Furthermore, a “flock” of “geese” is called a “gaggle” and a “gaggle” of “geese” in flight is called a “flight”. Someone was real creative with that one.<br>But wait! The “flight” or “gaggle” or “flock” of “geese” is also called a “skein”.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1mK1m_JQqqqWOreSzZO0mryuPBYfU_RDE_i-yLz4QOlTl2anPaFvhQMAmjVH4VkBtgM_qKLECGha3zDzEk4cwKG9v2CwUb5ivA3w-GzpCz2YhX5JT2Sr41fWy9QsxuBZbwA48sMSG3F_/s1600-h/geese2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO1mK1m_JQqqqWOreSzZO0mryuPBYfU_RDE_i-yLz4QOlTl2anPaFvhQMAmjVH4VkBtgM_qKLECGha3zDzEk4cwKG9v2CwUb5ivA3w-GzpCz2YhX5JT2Sr41fWy9QsxuBZbwA48sMSG3F_/s200/geese2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200102747013679778" /></a><br />(Click.) And if that isn’t enough …<br />A “flock” or “gaggle” of “geese” can also be called a “herd”. <I><b>”That’s right, they ain’t got no hooves!”</I></b> and they can still be a “herd”. Now before you say <I><b>”Joe, what the flock!”</I></b>, let me try to explain.<br>When a “flock” or “gaggle” of “geese” are not officially a “flight”, meaning, of course, that they are not in flight, and they are congregated on the ground,<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixUX2JS3hzbr_unWPjs5OoaMmfUhGCaRjSvWuGLj548hW2bk8O-J52cDloaYhhIjvFN5YiROudGYD-aZx6xSWG7GyXgoIDHZWr1pMSmUJujsuXY35bdtqI632dU282CJdwy1NlzaUrrcy8/s1600-h/geese3.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixUX2JS3hzbr_unWPjs5OoaMmfUhGCaRjSvWuGLj548hW2bk8O-J52cDloaYhhIjvFN5YiROudGYD-aZx6xSWG7GyXgoIDHZWr1pMSmUJujsuXY35bdtqI632dU282CJdwy1NlzaUrrcy8/s200/geese3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5200102751308647090" /></a> if they are guided, let’s say, across the road to keep them out of danger, then they are being herded and qualify as being a “herd”. If they are herded a long distance, say, across town, then they become a “drove” because they are being driven even though they never got into a car!<br />Remember, you “herd” … oops … “heard” it here on My Brain Train!<br /><a href="http://practicallywisdom.blogspot.com/2008/04/my-brain-train.html"></a><div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6211662256146080166.post-8423543181289602062008-05-25T13:46:00.007-04:002008-12-08T23:55:46.000-05:00Not Your Average Practically Joe<b><I>“Joe, let’s not cook tonight?”</I></b><br />My wife and I felt like going out for dinner the other night.<br />We decided on a place called <i><a href="http://www.notyouraveragejoes.com/"target="_blank">“Not Your Average Joe’s”</a></i><br />On their website, NYAJ’s describes themselves as creative, casual, cuisine.<br />They go on to say that if you like creative dishes that are innovated and unique; enjoy coming to a restaurant dressed as you are even though the food is worth dressing up for, and like the idea that they have cuisine (meaning they apply high standards of culinary art to everything they make) ... well then you should eat here. They add … if this restaurant sounds like your kind of place then, just like the others who go there, you are not your average Joe. Hey, that was clever. But, what if I’m “Practically Joe”?<br />We went because they invited us over for fancy looking dishes and blue jean cuisine. Besides, it’s on the way to our daughter’s house where we planned to stop later after having a bite to eat.<br />But tonight’s dining experience will be a little weird for me … here’s how it unfolds.<br /><b><I>“We should of called ahead, I hope we don’t have to wait.”</I></b><br />Here we go. I named a dozen other places on the way, as we were 10 minutes into the 25-minute drive, even though I knew it didn’t matter. I was just covering my bases. We pull into the parking lot she says … <br /><b><I>“Look at all the people hanging around, there’s a long wait, you go in and find out how long the wait is.”</I></b><br />I squashed this suggestion by parking in the furthest space from the door I could find and then saying ... “Don’t make me have to walk all the way there and back, just come with me now, I’m sure it not too long a wait.” Translation … a beer or two while waiting and the time will fly by.<br /><b><I>“I’m really hungry, I wish it wasn’t so long a wait, where’s the beeper?”</I></b>I answer, “We can go somewhere else (knowing she’s here to stay but I have to cover my bases), it won’t be that long and the beeper’s in my pocket (okay, so I like it when it vibrates), lets have a drink.”<br />I can bet on what comes next (it’s a 50-50 shot). She’s reading the drink menu and barely audibly talking to herself … <I>“margarita? … martini? … what’s a mojito?? … wine? … hmmm, a wine-spritzer? … don’t see that on here …”,</i> then … (I should of bet because I know her so well) …<br /><b><I>“I’ll just have a Bud Light bottle … no glass.”</b></i><br />She always emphasizes the “no glass” … and she’ll send the glass back if one is accidently delivered. I just love her. Then, on to the next predictable topic of conversation as we wait … <br /><b><I>“Let’s look at a menu so we’ll be ready to order when we’re seated.”</I></b><br />This is actually a great idea … if it worked. We both went through the entire menu changing our minds over and over again until we finally decided. Later, when ordering our meals, she will definitely change her mind on the spot and order some type of salad. I will not be upstaged and order something else as well (just to show her I can do it too) but of course I’ll most likely order something I really didn’t want and regret it through the entire meal … She’s definitely better at that than I am.<br />We are finally buzzed (oh, what a nice surprise, this feels good) … <br /><b><I>“Joe, what’s with the stupid look? Is that buzzing coming you’re your pocket?”</I></b><br />Busted!<br />So the hostess finally leads us to our table and this is when it becomes a bit weird. I hope you can clearly envision this. The section we were led to was the type where there is a long wall with cushioned seats with a bunch of two-top tables running along it with a chair across the table for the other diner ... sort of like what’s shown in the picture, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo05359v4r44p-Sc5h1Xpu5d07AeLUR5h6Spy5Y4nD7K6R9jhQFy7evUNHGtr9-BmS8HiuaZxrXlgoMZqQ401nYvJuAZ6cybc3irpsEmtdUK20a_mNuSrnxTawny9scx8rvQ4mclhEZ98y/s1600-h/bench+seating.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo05359v4r44p-Sc5h1Xpu5d07AeLUR5h6Spy5Y4nD7K6R9jhQFy7evUNHGtr9-BmS8HiuaZxrXlgoMZqQ401nYvJuAZ6cybc3irpsEmtdUK20a_mNuSrnxTawny9scx8rvQ4mclhEZ98y/s320/bench+seating.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204373404237204034" /></a>only this bench curved at the end making it a two-cushioned seating arrangement with a chair option. Being “practically” a gentleman, I offer her the cushioned seat as usual but then … my wife, seizing an opportunity, suggests … <br><b><I>“Joe, sit here next to me, on the cushioned bench.”</I></b> Kind of perplexed, I reluctantly agreed and awkwardly sat at the curved section, next to her. Big mistake! I immediately became uncomfortable, not physically, my butt was happy, but mentally uncomfortable like “oh-oh” uncomfortable. The hostess, smiling at how cute we were sitting so close says, “let me remove this chair to give you more leg room. I now saw my only escape route being carried away. I am now feeling like I’m sitting at the head of a really long dining room table with a dozen or so unfamiliar guests focusing in on me.<br />Noticing me looking like a deer caught in headlights, she asks …<br /><b><I>“Honey, what’s wrong, don’t you want to sit next to me?”</I></b><br />Barely hearing her ask, all I can see is this … <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqCqdNQap7gznsxexW7e9xOGzZdRwSTf2JAX-v_HamR6rCrEy7D-jtiQVyGvgNueP47IexE_w8UzwknLrVNQaLaOGZ1beqKK20SndnHHO14iOQw41YWRGJVXmmhW74VEqK6m5e_C8nYNH/s1600-h/table.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZqCqdNQap7gznsxexW7e9xOGzZdRwSTf2JAX-v_HamR6rCrEy7D-jtiQVyGvgNueP47IexE_w8UzwknLrVNQaLaOGZ1beqKK20SndnHHO14iOQw41YWRGJVXmmhW74VEqK6m5e_C8nYNH/s320/table.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204375062094580306" /></a> Then five silent seconds go by and a fellow at the next table (2 feet away) asks … “Have you been here before? Try the steak tips they’re really good. Where are you guys from?” … Then my wife … <br /><b><I>“Oh, we’re from Peabody, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.”</I></b><br />All the while, the others diners down the line studied me for reactions, as they chewed, chuckled and I sincerely think … felt for me (again, as they chuckled.)<br />Finally, when the conversation with the next table became a little uncomfortable even for her, she turns to me and seeing me staring daggers at her, she innocently asks …<br /><b><I>“What???”</I></b><br />From there we argue back and forth, me trying to understand why she, all of a sudden, wants me next to her instead of across from her … and she, continually suggesting that I go look for my friggin’ chair … and them (our dining guests), still looking down the table at me, now whispering while covering their mouths so I can’t read their lips … I stand up and say …<br />“That’s it! I'm sorry dear. I’ll be right back, I need to find my chair, I can’t enjoy my meal if I can’t look into your beautiful eyes.”<br /><b><I>“Oh honey, that’s so sweet. Hurry back.”</I></b><br />Yep, as soon as all our guests get up and leave.<div class="blogger-post-footer">You're Practically Wise Now ... Thanks for Visiting</div>Practically Joehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13664805750011618252noreply@blogger.com8