Nuclear Family Warhead

Hello. You don’t actually know me by name, but let me introduce myself. I am the severely depressed, erectile dysfunctional, herpes inflicted, anxiety disorder victimized, panic attack having, AD/HD….Hey look! A squirrel!……sorry about that, AD/HD suffering, narcolepzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz oops; dozed off again, didn’t I? Narcolepsy suffering, heartburn bemoaning insomniac who’s blog comment box you have been filling on a daily basis with all of those wonderful deals. How are you? I’m not so good. Thank God you found me in time. I would have gotten back to you sooner, but this personality only surfaces every few weeks, so I’m taking advantage of the time we have before “Frank” comes back and ruins the party for everyone. For ordering information, just call me, oh, um, I don’t really care-I’m the bi-polar personality, call me what ever you like, I’ll get pissed about it later. How about “Joe”?  Does that work for you?  Ok, good. I’ll call you Dr. Spammer; sound alright? COOL! Let’s do some bidness.

Here’s what I need: I’m looking for someone who can supply me with my meds on a regular basis.  The jerks at Wal-Mart won’t give me the $4 prescriptions anymore because apparently you need to be “sick”, or something in order to get one filled.  I AM sick, trust me.  The fact that I didn’t have it on “Stationary” or “Dr.’s Prescription Pad” is apparently an issue with the folks at Wal-Mart.  How was I supposed to know that the back of my Burger King receipt in highlighter wasn’t good enough for them?  That greeter was a real piece of work too, he’s supposed to say; “Welcome to Wal-Mart”, not “Stay the hell out or I’m calling the cops!”  Whatever. 

Anyway, can you help me out?  Here’s what I need: Valtrex, Viagra, Valium-basically I need all of the “V” family; send it all.  Next; I need Percocet, Wellbutrin, Lexapro, Celexa-everything in the “Happy” classification will be fine.  Also; Hydrocodone, Adderall, Ritalin, Xanax, Prevacid, Tramadol and Aspirin.  You know, for the headaches.  Oh, and Allegra.  I’ve got horrible allergies.  Please throw in an antihistamine and a nice multi-vitamin as this is basically my meal for the day.  Is it possible to get a volume discount?  I’ll be placing 2 to 3 orders a week.  Last but not least; is there anyway for you guys to combine these into just 3 or 4 pills?  You know, grind ‘em up and repack them in a bigger capsule?  I can handle anything up to the size of a tuna can.  The little ones, not the family size.  Thank you in advance for all of your help; reliable pharmacy service has been an issue for me lately, as I’m sure you can imagine.  You can reach me through my blog’s comment page at….HA!  What am I saying?  Jokes on me!  You KNOW where to find me, don’t you?

Apparently Dr. Isaid No has returned from the dank slums of Eastern Europe.  I was talking to Mr. and Mrs. AP the other day and they told me there had been a Doc sighting in the neighborhood.  It was more than a sighting, actually, it was a full-blown encounter.  Mr. & Mrs. AP did some spring cleaning and had a garage sale.  None of their customers ran over my mailbox this time, so I judge it a huge success.  After the sale they had a few toys left that they wanted to give to Bunson, the Doc’s 4 year old boy.  The Doc agreed and the toys were delivered.  Bunson had a blast all afternoon playing with his new used toys.  Then came bath-time. (Cue dramatic music).

It seems that the Doc and Bunson had differing opinions on bath-time; namely, when it should occur or if it should occur at all.  The Doc was for full body scrub-down while little Bunson was in the “I’ll play with my new toys whether I stink or not!” camp.  Guess who won that battle?  Bunson eventually made it upstairs with the assistance of some gentle persuasion followed by a full body lift and carry.  I understand that it wasn’t pretty.  After bath-time, or “Time Served” as Bunson would call it, Bunson returned downstairs at the urging of Nurse Thighhighs to apologize to the Doc.  Or so it seemed.

The Doc was relating this story to Mr. & Mrs. AP when they thought they found a discrepancy in the delivery.  Doc’s account was that Bunson came downstairs, tears still flowing and stated: “I’m sorry I was a crybaby-asshole.”  As in: “I’m sorry I was acting like a crybaby AND an asshole.”  After a few awkward  seconds, Mrs. AP made the gentle suggestion that perhaps that hyphen was actually a (gasp) comma, which would change the dynamic completely.  Did little Bunson actually say: “I’m sorry I was a crybaby, asshole”?  As in: “I’m sorry I was a crybaby YOU asshole!”  The Jury is still out.  I’ll let you know when they reach a verdict.

Well, at least this counts as 2 contests: the first and the last.  Tom at Being Michaels Daddy is the winner of the BWW POP QUIZ, as he was the only entrant.  Congratulations Tom!  Your bucket of genuine Myrtle Beach sand is on the way.  I have a feeling that Tom would have won regardless of the amount of entrants, had there been any; as he is a sesquipedalian of the first order.  Audubon Ron at Ducks Mahal claims that the dog ate his homework.  I would have thought it would’ve been one of his ducks, but it wasn’t.  We all know how hard it is to get bill marks out of paper.  Kimmylyn at Jogging In Circles was honest enough to say that she was “scared by the challenge and ducking out the back door”.  Kim, your honesty humbles me.  In retrospect I probably asked for too many big words, but that’s OK.  Live and learn.  Momo Fali is going camping and says she’s packing some big words for the trip; I’ll let you all know how that turns out when she gets back to me.  On to Tom’s winning words.

The first word Tom used was obfuscation; meaning to confuse, bewilder or stupefy.  That flawlessly describes the POP QUIZ.  The second word submitted by Tom was eschew; meaning to abstain or keep away from; shun; avoid.  Again, it describes the POP QUIZ perfectly.  Tom also used prodigious; an equally good word, but since the other two did such a good job describing my ability to conjure up a total lack of interest in ALL of my readers (yes, I’m talking to both of you), I decided to go with those.  I am not losing faith!  I know that some of you enjoy this little endeavor into the wonderful world of verbiage, so we will venture forward knowing that someone is benefitting somewhere.  The BWW Homepage is open 24/7; don’t be shy.

My neighbors dog is killing me.  It barks incessantly.  But ONLY at night.  Usually between the hours of 2am and 5am.  I think it suffers from daytime narcolepsy.  Barring a poisoned pork chop; I’m running out of options.  I have several that I can still employ, but the pork chop is looking better and better.  Now, before you call the ASPCA on me, understand that I am TOTALLY kidding about the pork chop.  At least for the dog.  The owners; however… 

I do take some pity on the dog.  It lives it’s entire existence in a store bought 8 X 8 chain link pen.  Her owner cut a hole in the pen and attached a dog house to it.  Sort of like an afterthought addition to a house.  The people house has no fence, so the pen is the only way to contain the dog.  Unless you count the times when they let her out of her pen and place her leash under one of the legs of a patio chair.  That worked out real well.  A 60 pound female lab can drag a wrought iron patio chair around the yard like it’s a cardboard box.  It was only slightly humorous when the dog thought the chair was chasing her around the yard.  She’d dart, tail between the legs down the hill only to look back to see the chair chasing her.  Her yelping brought out the owners quickly enough to avoid me having to become involved. 

This is a seasonal issue.  The winter time is blissful in that the nights are cold and she is in her dog house.  Most of the animals that cause nocturnal stirrings are usually asleep also; squirrels, possums, cats and the occasional Jehovah’s Witness.  Summertime brings warm evenings and lots of animal activity.  For some reason, our neighborhood has more squirrels than it has trees.  The squirrels are either spending their nights looking for new digs, or they are just monster partyers.  At some point during the early morning the revelers make their way to my house; like it’s Sixth Street in Austin; or Franklin Street in Chapel Hill.  Insert your University’s party street here.  Getting out of bed to go disperse the roustabouts is useless.  They’ll all just jump in their cars, turn on the radio and claim ignorance when I tap on their window with my nightstick. 

I’m sure some of you are thinking that if you were in this situation that you would unleash the Hounds of Hell to stop this; how come I’m not?  Well; it’s a little more complicated.   We have a drainage issue that centers on the house of the neighbors I’m talking about.  It involves a shady developer, the Mayor of the city, 9 acres of water that flows through my yard and another entire posts’ worth of explanation that I will spare you.  For now.  I have a plan; it’s the timing that is crucial.  D-Day took over 18 months to plan and execute; so have a little faith in me.  All the juicy details will be revealed as they occur; I promise.

We made it home in one piece!  No “travel” issues either, unless you count $4 a gallon gasoline or the sunburned tops of my feet.  I know, I know; but I had my sandals on, I can’t be expected to remember EVERYTHING!  Well, sandals won’t be an issue for a few days.  Nor will any type of footwear.  I’m going Cro-Magnon for a few days, maybe the peeling skin will be the reminder I need next time I go to the pool.  Overall, a great time was had by all.  We’ve vacationed in Myrtle Beach several times over the last 13 years or so.  NukeMom’s brother has a time share there.  We hadn’t been since 2004 and this trip was just us, so we ended up staying in a new place.  It was nice.  The new rage in Myrtle Beach is to make your hotel a “Family Friendly Resort”.  I use the term “resort” loosely, because they certainly do.  Again, no complaints with where we stayed….well, I’ll get to that, but; some of these guys think that “Family Friendly Resort” means having fresh towel service every other Tuesday. 

Myrtle Beach is a beach town in transition.  Some of the newer high dollar mega-tels are really nice.  They have the obligatory indoor/outdoor pool area, lazy river for the kids, vastly improved beachfront areas and some are even investing in miniature water parks for the kids.  They have the best of both worlds in Myrtle Beach.  They get the millions of family vacationers in the summer, but their actual “busy” season is in the winter time.  They cater to the convention/golfer crowd.  Boy do they.  There are over 100 golf courses in the area.  I’ve played dozens, and most are excellent.  The downside of trying to cater to families and golfers on business trips is that you end up with “Thee Doll House” Men’s Club being located right next door to “Captain Bennett’s Calabash Seafood Buffet”.  I tried explaining to Nukegirl that the “Doll’s” in that particular house wouldn’t be the type that she would want to play with; and that even though I might want to, I was too old to play with dolls.  And too married. 

There is literally something to do for everyone in Myrtle Beach.  Every socio-economic group could find something to do here.  The rich can play the “fancy” golf courses; the average Joe’s can hack it around just as easily.  There is fine dining for those that drink wine with their pinkie sticking out, and there are restaurants that serve beer by the bathtub.  It is the ultimate American Melting Pot.  I think I have just as much fun “people watching” on the beach as I do anything else.  I’m sure people are doing the same with me, but who cares?  How often can you be looked upon as a Prince AND a Pauper on the same day?  The one thing we missed that I really want to see when we go back is Hard Rock Park.  I guess they finally made enough money selling $15 cheeseburgers to open their own amusement park.  The centerpiece is “Led Zeppelin-The Ride”.  It’s 15 stories tall, 6 loops at 65 mph all to the sounds of “Whole Lotta Love”.  What’s not to like?  Check out the link for more.  Nukeboy1 was desperate to go, but he and I couldn’t justify the break-away from the rest of the klan, or the $50 ticket price.  I’m sure it’s worth every penny, but we didn’t have an entire day to spend there; so, we’ll wait until next time.  His classic rock education continues as he shopped relentlessly for t-shirts.  He came home with an album cover shot of AC/DC’s Highway to Hell that covers the entire front of the shirt (featuring Angus Young in all of his devil’s horned glory) that he has already been informed will never be worn to church; a Kiss shirt that features the debut album cover and a Black Sabbath Paranoid/Ironman combo shirt that I had never seen before.  You’d think we named him Damien, but we didn’t. 

The beach was great, though the waves were a little rough the first couple of days.  The pools were clean and well maintained throughout the day.  Nukegirl loved the lazy river, which in true NASCAR fashion travels counter-clockwise.  I think it’s a law, actually.  I think one hotel paid fines of $150 a day until they got their lazy river flowing in the right direction.  Sandcastles were built, sun-screen was applied (except for me and my feet) seashells were collected and crab legs were eaten.  By the plate full.  I think they lost money on me.  I ate so many crab legs that the next morning I didn’t even have to flush.  True story.  The only drawback to the trip?  The parking garage.  Getting in the first night required an 8 point turn for the first 2 levels.  I had 3 inches of clearance on the right side and 2 on the left.  That’s if I made the turn perfectly.  15 minutes to park the first time.  I ended up on level 4.  The guy in the parking space next to me took another 5 minutes to gather himself and stop the tears from flowing; it’s that emotional of an experience.  It is the most painted parking garage on the eastern seaboard.  They put up a new coat about every 30 minutes or so to ensure that new visitors don’t see the scrapes.  They have a stucco crew that operates like a NASCAR pit crew.  They can patch a bumper induced dent or hole in under 3 minutes.  They even have uniforms.  I got a little better each time, and by the last day I was zooming past the amateurs and paint crews at breakneck speed.  Tony Stewart would’ve been proud.    

Alright smarty-pants, NukeDad has taken the Nuclear Family to the Redneck Riviera for some sun-n-fun.  While they’re paying $8 a piece for sodas (same-day refills only $2!) and eating Calabash by the wagon-load, you’ve got some homework.  Get out your keyboards and listen up!  Your homework assignment is to create a paragraph using at least 6 words that you have learned so far this semester, and 2 Big Word Wednesday words of your own.  For all of you that are presently failing Ms. Mastenfudder’s math class, that is a total of 8 words.  Don’t start whining or I’ll make it 2 paragraphs!  That’s better.  The student who turns in the best paragraph will win a novelty item that will undoubtedly be purchased from some over-priced trinket shop within the first 20 minutes of the trip; AND have their 2 new Big Word Wednesday words featured in next week’s edition.   If you play your cards right, NukeDad might even give you that $8 souvenir cup.  You’re on your own for refills.  Quit your belly achin’, substitutes are supposed to be mean!  Now, get to work!

* prize value not to exceed $10. What? You think I’m made of money?

Wow.  What a great day this turned out to be!  I woke up to find a ton (for me, at least) of comments on my Father’s Day post; linky love from Mr. Lady at Whiskey In My Sippy Cup and Melisa at Suburban Scrawl, and then I got TrampledUpon  StumbledUpon.  It’s been a busy day.  To top it off, the YMCA flag football team that I coach beat the unbeatable today.  Well, unbeatable in their minds.  I knew we were going to win.  We HAD to win.  You don’t call time out with 4 seconds left to play when you are leading by 2 touchdowns, like they did;  just so you can run up the score that we supposedly don’t keep.  This team had beaten us twice; the first time by 1 point, and the aforementioned 2 touchdown defeat.  We were ready today. 

We play 6 on 6 flag football.  The Y only had enough kids for 4 teams, which is why we played this team 3 times.  They had 9 players.  We had 6.  Their kids got breaks every few plays.  Our players played the whole game.  Every play.  My ”not keeping score” tally at the end of the game was: we scored 6 touchdowns and converted 4 extra points; they scored 4 touchdowns and converted 2 extra points.  A “Real World” final score of 40-26.  My favorite statistic from the game where we don’t keep score or stats?  We ran 14 offensive plays the entire game. 

That’s not a typo.  We only ran 1 offensive play in the first quarter, yet at the end of that quarter we were up 2 TD’s to 1.  If you’re not familiar with football, the equivalent would be catching 2 mice in one trap.  Nukeboy1 intercepted a pass on their third play and ran it back for a touchdown.  Then they scored.  We got the ball back, and on our first (and last) play on offense we ran 60 yards for a touchdown.  The other coach was a bit put out by our performance, which was evident by the increased amount of spittle that was being sprayed out of his mouth. 

This guy is a condescending ”nickname giver” who got all that he deserved today.  He TOLD his parents and kids; and I quote: “Yeah, these guy’s should be pretty easy to beat; we’ve already beaten them twice, and WHEN we win NEXT week we’ll complete our unbeaten season”.   I could hear his arm break as he patted himself on the back.  Two of our parents heard his little pre-game pep talk.  Did no one learn anything from the Super Bowl?  Remember when the NY Giants actually had the gall to show up and play; and then actually beat the mighty New England Patriots?  I know quite a few bookies learned a harsh lesson that day, too bad this guy wasn’t watching. The nickname reference comes from him insisting on giving everyone a nickname.  “Purple!  You’re in!” or, “Ironman! Right end!”  Others went by “Sporty”, “Hammer” and “Skinny”.  There was absolutely no rhyme or reason to these names.  They were flag football’s version of a Spice Girls-Village People head-on collision.  If you’re going to give them nicknames, at least let it make sense!  Purple?  Ironman?  Are you going for Superheroes or Tele-tubbies?  Half the kids didn’t answer to their nicknames anyway, they were just as confused as I was.  By the end of the first game against them, I already had my nickname picked out for him; but “Gonad-Boy” doesn’t translate well with 9 to 11 year olds.  

Shaking hands after the game I heard Gonad-Boy ask; “Did you guys have, like, 10 practices since we played you last?  You guys had all the answers today”.  Luckily I was already past him and my assistant coach (the one with the patience today; we trade off) laughed it off.  I was cheering my guys as they walked through, though: “Way to go Ego-Crusher! You had 2 TD’s today!” and “Hey! Comeuppance-boy! How’s it feel to throw 7 passes, all of them completions, 3 for touchdown’s?” and “Crow Sandwich-server! Did you shake hands with Gona; er, the other coach?”  I wasn’t as spiteful as I could have been, and how Gonad-Boy usually is.  It’s about the kids; and today our kids learned what it means to play and win with dignity.  Just like they have all year.  That’s how I keep score.

I remember distinctly where I was the moment my father died. I was 30,000 feet in the air, somewhere over Western Mississippi or Eastern Arkansas. I was in a deep sleep due to overwork and stress from my father’s rapidly deteriorating condition. It had been a rough two days; trying to decide what to do, and when to do it.  Dad had been sick for a very long time. Emphysema does that to a person; it takes you slowly, not in one fell swoop. I had been in contact with my family as his condition waned in those final days. Finally, my sister told me, “You’d better come if you want to say goodbye.”

I left North Carolina for El Paso during the late afternoon. It was the end of October, so daylight disappeared quickly. It was dusk when we took off, and the darkness chased us all the way to West Texas. I had gathered my things quickly when I was preparing for my trip, and on the plane I was doing a mental checklist to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything. More work for an already overtaxed mind. I remember packing my suit and thinking what a morbid action that was. Was I a pessimist? Dad is going to die? Or was I an optimist? I’ll take it just in case, even though I know I won’t need it? I think I was a realist; after more than 10 years of fighting this affliction, Dad had given up the fight. The suit would have to be worn.

Mom and Dad had celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary only a month before. We were able to make that trip home to help them celebrate. I remember Dad seeming a little detached, almost as if he was savoring a long term goal that had been met. He was happy and smiling, as much as he could be, while fighting for breath, yet I could sense an undercurrent. I didn’t know it at the time, but I believe what he was feeling was accomplishment, and closure. Accomplishment for reaching this admirable milestone; and closure in that his journey was coming to an end.

He had fought so hard, for so long, that I believe that he was ready to go. It had just become too tiresome; the dread of knowing that a walk to the bathroom would leave him physically spent. The self-reproach of having to be waited on hand and foot by my Mother. The realization that each day became harder; less livable. It’s one thing to fight everyday to improve your life, knowing that you control your destiny; it is quite another to die a little each and every day knowing that there is nothing that you can do about it, and that the family that you hold so dear can only sit there and watch.

I bolted upright at 8:02pm, on October 26, 2002, startling the person next to me on the airplane. When I awoke, it was as if I had not been asleep at all. No cobwebs, no feeling of tiredness, just a feeling of total and complete peace. The last time I had felt that way was back in childhood before the worries of real life and responsibility had come. I can’t really describe it adequately; it wasn’t a feeling of joy, certainly not sadness, just a feeling of…lucidity. The worries and troubles of a job that I loathed were gone. So too, were the feelings of angst and sorrow for my dying Father. For in that moment, I knew why I had awoken, and I knew who had awoken me. While asleep, I had been dreaming of my Dad. I remember that in my dream I kept trying to convince him to keep fighting, that I was almost home. Just wait for me Pop. I remember him smiling that calm, reassuring smile of his as if to say; it’s alright, you’re already home.

As I gazed out the window of the airplane, I could see the sun setting to the west, like a giant ball about to roll off of a table. We were flying well above the clouds, and I noticed something I had never seen before. The tops of the clouds were completely flat; smooth as glass. There wasn’t a ripple, break or crease to be seen. It was as if I was looking at the floor of Heaven. I have never seen anything like it before or since. I researched trying to find out why the clouds would look that way, but came up empty. The rays of the sun were splashing off of the cloud tops in a way that made the entire sky look and feel like it was on fire. The brightness not overwhelming, and the sight nothing short of astounding. I knew in that moment that my Father was saying goodbye to me, and that this was his fond farewell. The show outside the airplane was exclusively for me; no one else even noticed. Or, perhaps, it wasn’t there for them to see.

I met my brother and sister curbside at the airport. As I climbed into the backseat I asked them how Dad was doing. My brother and sister turned around, and through tears my brother said, “You didn’t make it in time, I’m sorry.” I was emotionally spent, and immediately lost it. After trying so hard to get home in time, I had failed. After a few seconds of selfish weeping, I realized; I had made it in time. I asked my sister what time Dad had died. She said it was a couple of minutes after six, their time. That would make it almost exactly 8:02pm on my watch. The full realization of what had happened hit me at that moment, and instead of a feeling of sorrow, I was filled with joy; for I knew that I WAS with Dad when he passed, I just wasn’t at his bedside. He did that for me. And I will be forever indebted to him for it. Thanks, Pop.

(Update: July 1st, 2008) Mr. Lady at Whiskey In My Sippy Cup has awarded me the “Perfect Post” award for this tribute.  Thank you, Mr. Lady, I am truly humbled.

Thanks also to Lindsay at Suburban Turmoil and Kimberly at Petroville.

I’ve talked about our little house guest before.  If You don’t remember Bob, read this first.  Go on.  I’ll wait.  OK; back?  What did you think?  Crafty little S.O.B. isn’t he?  Well, he brought a friend with him this time.  He smuggled him in through the one thing that was designed to protect us: medicine.  That’s right, the medicine NukeMom was taking to make her “better” actually made her much, much worse.  But I’m getting ahead of myself; let’s back up a little.

Bob and his merry band of Virusmen were traipsing through our neighborhood like a group of Johnny Appleseed’s on crack.  They hit the Doc’s house and took down him and little Ebola.  They hit AP’s house, but didn’t gain a foothold there.  AP stocks enough vitamin C to last through 3 nuclear winters, so they came out OK.  They crossed the street and got 2 of the Irish Tenors (there’s ‘ten or’ fifteen of them, can’t remember).  They hit Klan Torgo’s house too; in fact, Ms. Torgo was at the Dr.’s office at the same time NukeMom was for the same thing: sore throat, general “blah-ness”.  They each got their Big Pharma fix and went home.  That’s where the stories took different paths.  While Ms. Torgo progressed to welldom, NukeMom got progressively worse.  By the beginning of last weekend, she was holding down food about as well as Britney Spears holds down her skirt. 

NukeMom’s food intake waned day by day so that by Sunday she was ready for an IV drip.  Water, Sprite, Ginger Ale, bananas, rice; all of the “safe” foods to eat were proving useless.  Little did we know that the cause of all of this was the antibiotic NukeMom was taking to help her throat.  The throat was feeling better now, but I think she’d have taken the sore throat back if it meant she could get some relief from the stomach gymnastics.  I got her to the Doctor first thing Monday and they did blood work and took some “samples”.  Just trust me on this and use your imagination, it wasn’t the type of samples you get from the cart jockeys at Sam’s or Costco.  Test results came back Wednesday and showed that NukeMom had a bacterial infection brought on by the antibiotic she was taking for her throat.  They promptly prescribed another antibiotic to counteract the original antibiotic.  It’s kind of like pouring alcohol on an open wound; you know you have to do it, but you’re not exactly excited about it.  We finally got the new antibiotic in her system, and she started to see a little relief.  She limped into work on Thursday, and almost made it through the day.  She made it all the way through today and was actually able to hold down dinner for the first time in a week. 

NukeMom lost 19 pounds in the process.  While that is an impressive number, it’s not a diet plan that I would recommend.  Or should I?  Maybe a little infomercial action?  Late at night I’m sure we could sell a few hundred thousand copies of “Dehydrating to the Oldies”, or “Involuntary Stomach Pilates”.  Better keep it hush-hush for now.  Knowing Bob, he’ll want a percentage for being a “co-creator” or “technical advisor”.  He’s probably long gone from our neighborhood now anyway.  I’m sure he’s trying to cash in on the whole tomato salmonella outbreak thing.  They’re only in 19 states right now.  If they bring Bob and his bunch on board, they could be nationwide just in time for July 4th weekend.

In honor of my 13th wedding anniversary tomorrow, I thought we would pick a couple of words that would fit in with this weeks BWW sign, and the theme of Las Vegas weddings.  See; NukeMom and I got married in Las Vegas.  June 12th, 1995; the day we started our life together.  It was a year to the day after a guy named OJ ended his relationship with his ex-wife.  I think we all know how that turned out.  I guess not everybody can celebrate their wedding anniversaries with CNN updates on how to get away with murder; unless you got married on the same day that Robert Blake took his wife to dinner.  We were committed to the date because of work/travel schedules and the invitations had already gone out.  I didn’t actually realize the significance of the date until it was too late; it’s not like his face wasn’t plastered all over TV for a year and a half, so when I saw his face on the TV that day in the hotel suite after the wedding, I didn’t put 2 and 2 together.  No bother; every year when I toast my bride and I see some “____ many years ago today” update on TV, I know in the back of my mind that there is a special wing of the Murderers’ Hall Of Fame under construction in Hell, and that OJ will be signing autographs there soon enough. 

What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?  Not always.  The reason is that many people do things in an extemporaneous fashion when they are in Vegas.  It means: things done, spoken, performed, etc. without special advance preparation; impromptu.  Going to Vegas to get married wouldn’t be considered extemporaneous; going for an Insurance Convention and coming back married would.  Taking another card when the Blackjack dealer has a Jack showing wouldn’t be extemporaneous; placing the entire balance of your 401K on black would.  I think you get the idea.  Our second word this week is recalcitrant.  It means: resisting authority or control; not obedient or compliant.  Again; going to Vegas to get married wouldn’t be considered recalcitrant; going at age 13 to marry your 8th grade teacher would. 

There you go; two new words to place in you ever growing vault of vocabularic magnificance.  Don’t forget to check the BWW Home Page  for all of the words we’ve covered so far.  I know it looks a little funky over there right now, I’m still trying to clean up after an involuntary theme change.  We should have everything cleaned up and back to normal in a day or two.  Thanks for your patience.