"It's MY god damned birthday, Santa"
Friday, May 27, 2011
Jesus Hopping Christ
When doing interwebs research for yesterdays blog post, I did a quick Google Images search for the term "Jesus Hopping Christ". I did not find any pictures of Jesus actually hopping, but I did find this image which didn't exactly fit the tone of the post but is nonetheless fantastic:
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Stupid Hospitals
I had a bad weekend, but not nearly as bad as a few people I know and love.
You see, both of my parents went to the hospital this weekend. Different hospitals. For 3 night stays. Ugh.
It all started with my Mother turning orange. For those not in the know, my Mother was diagnosed with 4th stage colon cancer back in October of 2005. Wednesday, October 26th to be exact. Why do I remember that date? Because when all of my other friends were celebrating the Chicago White Sox closing out the Houston Astros in the 2005 World Series--probably with beer, champagne and hookers--I was shell-shocked with my family over this devastating development.
That's just like my Mom...always looking to overshadow the 2005 World Series Champion Chicago White Sox with her cancer.
Anyhoo...where was I? Ah, yes. My Mom turned orange. Like this:
It would appear that a growing tumor that her doctors have been keeping an eye on eventually pushed up into her liver and caused her liver to, as her doctors (probably) put it, "go all batshit wonky". The words "draining" and "bile" were, in fact, thrown around far too frequently for my comfort. She had surgery on Saturday and they put a stint into her liver causing it to function like it is supposed to.
Which brings me to my Dad. You're going to need to brace yourself for this story, kiddos.
Before this weekend, by favorite Don Jacklich story went like this: For those of you that have never met my Dad, he's not, um, concerned with his personal appearance. Here is a pretty good representation of the way he dresses, 75% of the time:
I draw special attention to his work pants that have not been washed since the Carter administration. Those are not camouflage pants, in case you were curious; that is years of paint, glue, concrete, spackle, gunk, goo, inflammables, snot and oil. He is not a fashionista.
My Dad has never been one to shower. Before you think I'm piling it on, he does bathe. But he exclusively takes baths and never, ever showers. A few months ago, he couldn't find any soap for his bath; this, of course, is a problem if one wants to wash off 2 days worth of concrete. What is a man to do without soap?
Never fear, my Dad has always been great at improvising. Take, for example, the time he attempted to cauterize a wound with Shoe Goo instead of a bandage.
Hunting around his house in search for soap, he came across what he felt was the next best thing: Tide Detergent. The powdered kind.
Powdered Tide! Powdered Tide that he still uses for his baths to this day, by the way.
I love this guy.
Which brings me back to the new "Best-Don-Jacklich-Story". My Father loves my Mother terribly. He is so adorably devoted to his wife, it brings a tear to even the most cynical of eyes (ie: mine). He dropped my Mother off at Northwestern Medical downtown, kissed her goodbye and made his way to his car.
As he was walking, he felt a tingling in his left arm. He was carrying a heavy briefcase in his left hand so he swapped the case over to his right. As he continued to walk to the car, he couldn't help but notice that the tingling continued, escalated to pain and he found himself with a shortness of breath. This man needed medical attention.
Let's take a break for a poll. What do you think Don Jacklich did? Did he:
A) Turn around and head back to Prentice Womens Hospital to speak to my Mother's doctor?
B) Walk over to the Northwestern's ER and check himself in?
C) Get into his car, make his way over to a congested-with-construction I-290, leave Chicago, drive 35 miles back to Lisle, park his car and call 911?
Anyone who selected choice "C" gets a cookie. To recap: My Father--very clearly having a heart-attack and with a history of heart trouble--left one of the world's best and most renown hospitals and drove home 35 miles so he could dial 911 to get a ride to another hospital.
Jesus-hopping-Christ.
He's ok. Turns out, he needed a stint replaced in his heart from his triple by-pass in 1997. The day after his surgery he was his normal obnoxious self and two days later he was drinking wine and eating Bubba Burgers with us. Not sure that is what is supposed to happen to a guy who just had a heart attack but more power to him.
Krishni, who is much smarter than me about such things, said my Mother's condition obviously is the greater long-term concern but my Father was much closer to death this weekend than Sheila. What a dumbass. But now that we know he's going to be fine, you can't help shake your head and laugh at a story like that.
Incidentally, Sheila is ok as well. She's eating again and we're looking to put some weight back on her. She was in good spirits and overjoyed that 4/5ths of her children came back in town to visit her. We all had a terrifying-yet-ultimately-fun weekend together. And Krishni has been great through it all. I do love that woman.
For those looking to help "Operation Sheila Weight Gain", she likes pie. For those looking to help me cope with all of this, I like booze.
You see, both of my parents went to the hospital this weekend. Different hospitals. For 3 night stays. Ugh.
It all started with my Mother turning orange. For those not in the know, my Mother was diagnosed with 4th stage colon cancer back in October of 2005. Wednesday, October 26th to be exact. Why do I remember that date? Because when all of my other friends were celebrating the Chicago White Sox closing out the Houston Astros in the 2005 World Series--probably with beer, champagne and hookers--I was shell-shocked with my family over this devastating development.
That's just like my Mom...always looking to overshadow the 2005 World Series Champion Chicago White Sox with her cancer.
Anyhoo...where was I? Ah, yes. My Mom turned orange. Like this:
Seriously.
It would appear that a growing tumor that her doctors have been keeping an eye on eventually pushed up into her liver and caused her liver to, as her doctors (probably) put it, "go all batshit wonky". The words "draining" and "bile" were, in fact, thrown around far too frequently for my comfort. She had surgery on Saturday and they put a stint into her liver causing it to function like it is supposed to.
Which brings me to my Dad. You're going to need to brace yourself for this story, kiddos.
Before this weekend, by favorite Don Jacklich story went like this: For those of you that have never met my Dad, he's not, um, concerned with his personal appearance. Here is a pretty good representation of the way he dresses, 75% of the time:
I draw special attention to his work pants that have not been washed since the Carter administration. Those are not camouflage pants, in case you were curious; that is years of paint, glue, concrete, spackle, gunk, goo, inflammables, snot and oil. He is not a fashionista.
My Dad has never been one to shower. Before you think I'm piling it on, he does bathe. But he exclusively takes baths and never, ever showers. A few months ago, he couldn't find any soap for his bath; this, of course, is a problem if one wants to wash off 2 days worth of concrete. What is a man to do without soap?
Never fear, my Dad has always been great at improvising. Take, for example, the time he attempted to cauterize a wound with Shoe Goo instead of a bandage.
Seriously.
Hunting around his house in search for soap, he came across what he felt was the next best thing: Tide Detergent. The powdered kind.
Again. Seriously.
Powdered Tide! Powdered Tide that he still uses for his baths to this day, by the way.
I love this guy.
Which brings me back to the new "Best-Don-Jacklich-Story". My Father loves my Mother terribly. He is so adorably devoted to his wife, it brings a tear to even the most cynical of eyes (ie: mine). He dropped my Mother off at Northwestern Medical downtown, kissed her goodbye and made his way to his car.
As he was walking, he felt a tingling in his left arm. He was carrying a heavy briefcase in his left hand so he swapped the case over to his right. As he continued to walk to the car, he couldn't help but notice that the tingling continued, escalated to pain and he found himself with a shortness of breath. This man needed medical attention.
Let's take a break for a poll. What do you think Don Jacklich did? Did he:
A) Turn around and head back to Prentice Womens Hospital to speak to my Mother's doctor?
B) Walk over to the Northwestern's ER and check himself in?
C) Get into his car, make his way over to a congested-with-construction I-290, leave Chicago, drive 35 miles back to Lisle, park his car and call 911?
Anyone who selected choice "C" gets a cookie. To recap: My Father--very clearly having a heart-attack and with a history of heart trouble--left one of the world's best and most renown hospitals and drove home 35 miles so he could dial 911 to get a ride to another hospital.
Jesus-hopping-Christ.
He's ok. Turns out, he needed a stint replaced in his heart from his triple by-pass in 1997. The day after his surgery he was his normal obnoxious self and two days later he was drinking wine and eating Bubba Burgers with us. Not sure that is what is supposed to happen to a guy who just had a heart attack but more power to him.
Krishni, who is much smarter than me about such things, said my Mother's condition obviously is the greater long-term concern but my Father was much closer to death this weekend than Sheila. What a dumbass. But now that we know he's going to be fine, you can't help shake your head and laugh at a story like that.
Incidentally, Sheila is ok as well. She's eating again and we're looking to put some weight back on her. She was in good spirits and overjoyed that 4/5ths of her children came back in town to visit her. We all had a terrifying-yet-ultimately-fun weekend together. And Krishni has been great through it all. I do love that woman.
For those looking to help "Operation Sheila Weight Gain", she likes pie. For those looking to help me cope with all of this, I like booze.
Specifically, Ron De Jeremy
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Oh. Hell. Yeah.
I've been hearing about this movie for so long and now it's finally coming out. As if I needed another reason to love Thanksgiving...
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
It's time for a new poll!
One of the continually entertaining aspects of my gorgeous wife is her insistence on "exactification". For instance, she might claim that I totally made that word up. Of course I did, but that is besides the point.
She would have made an excellent lawyer. She has a near-photographic memory when pinot grigio is not involved, had a wonderful grasp on language only occasionally punctuated with a sentence ending in a preposition and she remembers every damn word I say. It's a really, really good thing that I am not a liar.
She also has trouble detecting my levity when I attempt to pass off a 100% ridiculous statement as fact. "Really? Benjamin Franklin played the theromin?" she once said in a story I just totally made up. Because of this, I call her "Literal Sally". It's one of the more endearing nicknames I've given her, and, likely the only nickname that won't result in my murder if published on Bonzer T's Home Skillet.
The other night, we were laying on our bed watching something on the DVR and the playoffs were about to begin. I told her as much, she sighed and said, "Ok, you can watch your sports".
Now, Krishni considers herself a bit of a sports widow. It's no secret that I have some silly passions: pie, cartoons on Fox, Christmas, Disney World, The Gilmore Girls, porn, etc. And yes, sports is one of those passions. For her benefit, I do have a schedule worked out:
April-October: White Sox Baseball
October to December: Notre Dame football
January: The good college football teams
January to June: The Bulls
One day in the middle of February (TBD): Krishni
Ok, that's a bit of an exaggeration. For instance, in the 183 calender days between April and September, the White Sox only have 162 games. Plus the playoffs. Sometimes.
Back to the other night. As I was leaving our bedroom, she said "Enjoy your boys playing with balls". Before you think this was a sophomoric, "Mike Jacklich-style" joke, I assure you it was not. This one was pure Literal Sally. She was genuinely referring--not to nut-sacks--but to the physical act of grown gentlemen on the worlds stage, locked in athletic battle, in HD, taking a spherical object and thrusting it through a circular object.
It is only fair that she called my television program "Boys Playing with Balls" as I have nicknamed her favorite shows that are on constantly: "Bones", I like to call "Pretty People Solve Crimes" and "Grey's Anatomy" I like to refer to as "Pretty People Perform Surgery." Lately she's been watching "Ally McBeal", or, as I like to call it, "Freakishly Skinny People Having Sex With Each Other And Occasionally Take Some Time To Argue In Court. And Dancing. They Like to Dance."
It was really only a matter of time before she named one of my shows. When she told me to go watch my boys playing with balls, I paused and had a "Literal Sally" moment of my own: "They only play with one ball. Wouldn't 'Boys playing with ball' be the more appropriate name?" "No", she countered, "there are many balls on the court for warm-ups." This makes sense; if a ball deflates, the whole crowd doesn't just go home...they just get another ball from a rack. "But wait a minute," I said, "there is only one ball in play at any given time. As the clock ticks, there is only one ball that matters." "You're stupid" she said.*
We argued about this probably longer than we should have before I went off to watch the Bulls hang on for a game 5 victory.
So, I put it to you, dear readers of the Home Skillet: which is it? "Boys with Balls" or "Boys with Ball"? Take the poll in the upper-right hand corner at let us know your thoughts on the worlds dumbest argument.
*No she didn't
She would have made an excellent lawyer. She has a near-photographic memory when pinot grigio is not involved, had a wonderful grasp on language only occasionally punctuated with a sentence ending in a preposition and she remembers every damn word I say. It's a really, really good thing that I am not a liar.
She also has trouble detecting my levity when I attempt to pass off a 100% ridiculous statement as fact. "Really? Benjamin Franklin played the theromin?" she once said in a story I just totally made up. Because of this, I call her "Literal Sally". It's one of the more endearing nicknames I've given her, and, likely the only nickname that won't result in my murder if published on Bonzer T's Home Skillet.
The other night, we were laying on our bed watching something on the DVR and the playoffs were about to begin. I told her as much, she sighed and said, "Ok, you can watch your sports".
Now, Krishni considers herself a bit of a sports widow. It's no secret that I have some silly passions: pie, cartoons on Fox, Christmas, Disney World, The Gilmore Girls, porn, etc. And yes, sports is one of those passions. For her benefit, I do have a schedule worked out:
April-October: White Sox Baseball
October to December: Notre Dame football
January: The good college football teams
January to June: The Bulls
One day in the middle of February (TBD): Krishni
Ok, that's a bit of an exaggeration. For instance, in the 183 calender days between April and September, the White Sox only have 162 games. Plus the playoffs. Sometimes.
Back to the other night. As I was leaving our bedroom, she said "Enjoy your boys playing with balls". Before you think this was a sophomoric, "Mike Jacklich-style" joke, I assure you it was not. This one was pure Literal Sally. She was genuinely referring--not to nut-sacks--but to the physical act of grown gentlemen on the worlds stage, locked in athletic battle, in HD, taking a spherical object and thrusting it through a circular object.
It is only fair that she called my television program "Boys Playing with Balls" as I have nicknamed her favorite shows that are on constantly: "Bones", I like to call "Pretty People Solve Crimes" and "Grey's Anatomy" I like to refer to as "Pretty People Perform Surgery." Lately she's been watching "Ally McBeal", or, as I like to call it, "Freakishly Skinny People Having Sex With Each Other And Occasionally Take Some Time To Argue In Court. And Dancing. They Like to Dance."
It was really only a matter of time before she named one of my shows. When she told me to go watch my boys playing with balls, I paused and had a "Literal Sally" moment of my own: "They only play with one ball. Wouldn't 'Boys playing with ball' be the more appropriate name?" "No", she countered, "there are many balls on the court for warm-ups." This makes sense; if a ball deflates, the whole crowd doesn't just go home...they just get another ball from a rack. "But wait a minute," I said, "there is only one ball in play at any given time. As the clock ticks, there is only one ball that matters." "You're stupid" she said.*
We argued about this probably longer than we should have before I went off to watch the Bulls hang on for a game 5 victory.
So, I put it to you, dear readers of the Home Skillet: which is it? "Boys with Balls" or "Boys with Ball"? Take the poll in the upper-right hand corner at let us know your thoughts on the worlds dumbest argument.
*No she didn't
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Odd and Ends from my Mind Grapes
1) The poll has been reposted and so far and, with just one vote, I'm winning. I'm glad I voted with me.
2) I wore my 'God is Awesome' t-shirt to work today. I get some pretty funny looks when I'm out and about in Chicago wearing this shirt; people can never quite get a bead on what I'm thinking. It's no different at the Rabbit. While most folks get it, some people really don't know how to talk to me. He works at a place where there are naked ladies. But he's wearing that shirt! I don't know what to say to him. Crap! He's coming over here! Um, ummmmm..."You know what else is awesome? Tits."
3) That said, I really need to stop wearing this shirt out in the suburbs. Last time I wore it out there, I got stopped twice at Home Depot, the last guy grabbing my shoulder and saying "I'm happy a young fella like yourself is so proud to wear that shirt and believes in the lord Jesus Christ!" Uh, hallelujah?
4) I got some pretty amazing news yesterday. My sister and brother-in-law--Diana and Rick--recently moved their family from Evanston, IL to Denver, CO. While this did technically rip our new godson away from Krishni and me:
This did bring some fantastic information to light. Has anyone ever seen that episode of South Park called "Casa Bonita"?:
Words cannot express how excited I am about this development. They really do have cliff divers (sullen cliff divers, as my brother-in-law explains), strolling mariachi players, fire jugglers, Black Bart's Cave and "world famous" sopaipillas. With honey.
I immediately texted Rick about his blog post and demanded--in no uncertain terms--that he take us to Casa Bonita when we arrive for a visit in Denver. Like, "take-us-there-the-second-our-wheels-touch-down-at-the-airport" take us there.
5) Speaking of "Mexican" food, Kalena and I hit Taco Bell for the new item yesterday: The Beefy Melt Burrito:
It was pretty good, especially for 99 cents. But it really was the Beefy Crunch Burrito from a few weeks ago, minus the Fritos. And the Fritos were the best part. We do believe, however, that this will tide us over until the gleefully anticipated arrival of the Doritos Locos Taco.
6) Finally, a public service announcement: For any of my peers that is a new parent or is thinking about becoming a new parent (Don't! There's still time to do all that stuff you wanted to do! Start a band! Write a book! Live you life!), Rick's blog is a must read. You can find it at http://hamanneggs.blogspot.com/. It's fabulously entertaining and contains some pretty fantastic information with which we can later blackmail my nephews. Plus, the kids are super cute:
2) I wore my 'God is Awesome' t-shirt to work today. I get some pretty funny looks when I'm out and about in Chicago wearing this shirt; people can never quite get a bead on what I'm thinking. It's no different at the Rabbit. While most folks get it, some people really don't know how to talk to me. He works at a place where there are naked ladies. But he's wearing that shirt! I don't know what to say to him. Crap! He's coming over here! Um, ummmmm..."You know what else is awesome? Tits."
3) That said, I really need to stop wearing this shirt out in the suburbs. Last time I wore it out there, I got stopped twice at Home Depot, the last guy grabbing my shoulder and saying "I'm happy a young fella like yourself is so proud to wear that shirt and believes in the lord Jesus Christ!" Uh, hallelujah?
4) I got some pretty amazing news yesterday. My sister and brother-in-law--Diana and Rick--recently moved their family from Evanston, IL to Denver, CO. While this did technically rip our new godson away from Krishni and me:
Pictured: Luca the Destroyer
This did bring some fantastic information to light. Has anyone ever seen that episode of South Park called "Casa Bonita"?:
Words cannot express how excited I am about this development. They really do have cliff divers (sullen cliff divers, as my brother-in-law explains), strolling mariachi players, fire jugglers, Black Bart's Cave and "world famous" sopaipillas. With honey.
I immediately texted Rick about his blog post and demanded--in no uncertain terms--that he take us to Casa Bonita when we arrive for a visit in Denver. Like, "take-us-there-the-second-our-wheels-touch-down-at-the-airport" take us there.
5) Speaking of "Mexican" food, Kalena and I hit Taco Bell for the new item yesterday: The Beefy Melt Burrito:
6) Finally, a public service announcement: For any of my peers that is a new parent or is thinking about becoming a new parent (Don't! There's still time to do all that stuff you wanted to do! Start a band! Write a book! Live you life!), Rick's blog is a must read. You can find it at http://hamanneggs.blogspot.com/. It's fabulously entertaining and contains some pretty fantastic information with which we can later blackmail my nephews. Plus, the kids are super cute:
Friday, May 13, 2011
Poll...Deleted! For the time being, hopefully.
It would seem that BlogSpot had some issues last night that caused general mayhem and the temporary removal of certain posts. My "New Poll" post has been re-added but I'm unsure about the poll itself. I'll give it until tomorrow and if it hasn't been re-added by then, I will put up the poll as "new". And I strongly recommend you start voting with me and not the wife, you jerks.
To tide you over, here is a photo illustrating Krishni's point:
To tide you over, here is a photo illustrating Krishni's point:
Monday, May 2, 2011
Year 1
I love my wife. She's amazing. She's super smart, dead sexy and she laughs at all my jokes, even if that joke is about my balls. She's funny, articulate, classy, huggable...she's awesome sauce. She makes a mean Mac and Cheese, has an eye for design, and is an incredible photographer. I mean, look at this:
She's loyal, enjoys Veuve Clicquot and Futurama, and doesn't think any less of me for my love of all things Gilmore Girls. She deals with the 24 hour sports-cycle in our house, owns the world's greatest TV and I'm just gonna come out and say it: she has a great ass.
As of May 1st, 2011, I'll have been married to this wonderful woman for one full year. Why she's put up with all my shit for this long is beyond me. She really, really can do better.
You know what makes me sad though? Assuming I haven't yet died from my 3rd heart attack, let's say we're married for 50 years. As of yesterday, our marriage is now 1/50th over (sniff).
I think I'll just have to hug her extra tight tonight.
She's loyal, enjoys Veuve Clicquot and Futurama, and doesn't think any less of me for my love of all things Gilmore Girls. She deals with the 24 hour sports-cycle in our house, owns the world's greatest TV and I'm just gonna come out and say it: she has a great ass.
As of May 1st, 2011, I'll have been married to this wonderful woman for one full year. Why she's put up with all my shit for this long is beyond me. She really, really can do better.
You know what makes me sad though? Assuming I haven't yet died from my 3rd heart attack, let's say we're married for 50 years. As of yesterday, our marriage is now 1/50th over (sniff).
I think I'll just have to hug her extra tight tonight.
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