I went to the doctor the other day.  I showed up fifteen minutes early for my three o'clock appointment.  So I could fill out all the stupid paperwork.

By three, I was ready to be ushered into the back to find out whether or not I should be worried about this nasty rash that popped up out of nowhere.  The rash was down there (pointing south) and Hydrocortisone didn't do jack for me.  So I went to the doctor.

And waited. 

I was living in New York and in therapy with a woman named Maria who had a motor skill disease that made her sound like those impressionists who imitate Katherine Hepburn. Once she told me I should bring a stool onstage and call myself a "sit-down comic." Paying for that session nearly killed me.

I signed up for a class at the New York Improv and started dating a man named Peter. The therapy with Maria and the Improv classes were taking up a lot of my waitress salary so I told Maria I was quitting. She told me I couldn't leave and now I had to bring the new boyfriend into therapy, to make sure it would, you know, work out.  

"She looks like my ass."

The above little gem was spoken to my wife as we walked (I'm sorry..as SHE DRAGGED ME) through a local department store.

I hate shopping.

I would rather watch a lesbian porn movie starring Rosie O'Donnell and Janet Reno than go shopping.

Unless it's shopping for a TV...

...then you can replace Rosie and Janet with, say, Carmen Electra and Scarlett Johansson.

One of my bosses is an eighty-five year old man.  He still gets around and comes to work every day although he forgets his mobile phone all the time and misplaces his keys with abandon.  Yet he can quote numbers and distant memories with the accuracy of the History Channel.  It's amazing.

But he pisses on the toilet seat like a drooling toddler. 

The chicks go crazy for guys who can hoist soup cans...

...two at a time.

So. Hot.

I began therapy this week (no..no...not mental or sexual (but not like I couldn't use either)) for my shoulder.

I hate physical therapy.  I've done it before.

It worked so well the first time, that my shoulder apparently decided that it missed it and wanted to go back.

But I digress...

Husband:  My feet are sexier than yours.

Wife:  Nuh-uh!   Mine are way sexier.

Husband:  No, they’re not.

Wife:  Are too.

This, my friends, is what you can expect after fifteen years of marriage. 

The other day I was stopped at a light.  It was nice weather so most people had their car windows down.  Suddenly, from the vehicle behind me, someone yelled.

"Poo Poo!  Hey, Poo Poo!"

I looked into the rear-view mirror and saw a black guy hanging out the passenger-side window of the car behind me, yelling at a girl in the next car.  She looked over and smiled, obviously happy at being called "Poo Poo."

Poo Poo?  I thought.  Her name is Poo Poo?