Potpourri

We're just in from Happy Hour, which we called early today for a number o' reasons, not the least o' which was relieving some small amount o' frustration we experienced earlier today.  But we're getting ahead o' ourselves...

The last two days have been largely taken up by jumping through various and sundry medical hoops.  We find ourself suffering from an Old Man's Ailment... which, without going deep into the TMI space, is often remedied by a prescription for Flomax.  This has been goin' on for more than a few months and we decided to do sumthin' about it yesterday, which involved a somewhat amusing interlude in that our primary care physician is a Sweet Young Thang of about 30 years, if that.  Being the thorough doctor that she IS we went through the... ah... sorta unique experience of a prostate exam, which would be the first time a woman ever examined my prostate in a professional manner.  But we survived, albeit somewhat red-faced.  In the presence of a male orderly, IAW with hospital regs, which added to the experience in a not-so-amusing way, lemmee tell ya.

There were also several follow-up tests to be administered, chief among which was feeding the vampires at Roosevelt General Hospital.  My appointment yesterday was somewhat late, and the admin staff who would've pre-registered me for the required blood work at the hospital's lab had all gone home by the time I was out of the doctor's exam room.  And therein lies the source of my angst today.  I reported for the required blood-work and cooled my heels in RGH's waiting room for 45-fucking-minutes, until such time as the administrative staff could find time to collect two forms for me to sign, one of which was WRONG, and "admit" me for testing.

Me: Why do I have to sign a Medicaid form when I'm not on Medicaid?
Fat-assed Admin Lady:  Oh, thank you for reading the form... I pulled the wrong one.

Darlin', I always read stuff I'm required to sign... but is this it?  "Yes," she sez... and I'm on my way to the lab.  Ten minutes... at the most... and we're done and outta there, after profuse apologies from the lab staff over the wait.  But not a word from the Fat-assed admin lady, of course.

So.  We went out to the Cannon Airplane Patch pharmacy, got our prescription filled, and are waiting on the lab test results which should come back normal, The Deity At Hand willing.

I suppose this falls into the category of "It's Always SUMTHIN'," eh?

―:☺:―

I got The Tart over 100 mph today for the first time.  I was on the way back from Cannon Airplane Patch when I came upon a Toyota following a Harley... both doin' about 60 mph in a 65 mph zone, which zone is normally traveled somewhere north o' 70 mph.  We calculated the passing solution and when the road was clear we zapped both vehicles in one fell swoop.  We glanced down at the speedometer as we swung back into the right lane and were simultaneously amused and horrified at what we saw: 105 mph.  We immediately stood on the brakes a bit, given as how there were three vehicles approaching from the opposite direction at about a half-mile's distance... none of which had light bars on the roof... and we thank The Deity At Hand for small favors.  But Boy Howdy!  The Tart can MOVE when called upon to do so.

―:☺:―

We're toying with the ideer of changing our tag-line, which currently reads "If a lifetime can be likened to a day, then this is Happy Hour."  Our tag-line has been that since Day One and we're coming up on our seventh blogoversary.  I've been remarkably consistent with my blog format and template... what you see is what ALWAYS was... as opposed to my contemporaries who seem to move the furniture around every couple o' years or so, sometimes more.  I like my tag-line, mainly coz it's true.  But we're thinkin' about changin' it to this:

"Beer, booze, cigars, and fast cars... but no wimmen.  There ain't enough money left over for that."

Whaddaya think, Gentle Reader?