Doctors

This is how I'm convinced every doctor's appointment is going to go:

Me: Doc, what do you think could be causing this weird symptom?

Doc: Something expensive.

Me: Would you care to elaborate?

Doc: Something very expensive.

Me: Such as?

Doc: We'll have to run some tests.

*3 weeks, 2 blood draws and a series of x-rays later*

Doc: I'm going to have to refer you to my golfing buddy. I mean, a specialist.

Me: Oh, dear. What did you find?

Doc: Inconclusive. But we did confirm the presence of an epicondyle.

Me: Can you remove it?

Doc: Your elbow? Not necessary. But please pay my receptionist four million dollars on the way out. 

Me: Absolutely. Thank you!

The Pneumonia Diet

Forget Atkins.

South Beach is for losers.

The Daniel Plan will only fill you with carrots before the lions get you.

My new diet plan is the way to go. On the Pneumonia Diet, I lost 22 pounds in 3 weeks. And since I got sick right after New Year's, that means I had more than accomplished my resolution of 15 pounds before January was out. No other diet plan can claim this kind of success.

Side effects may include respiratory failure, delusional ambulance rides, long hospital stays and hair loss.

I'll be writing a bestselling book about it, and will probably be featured on Dr. Oz's weird show. You would not believe how much of that show I was subjected to in waiting rooms for all my follow up doctor appointments.


How are your New Year's Resolutions coming along?
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Confession Time With Ricky

After all this time, I think I finally owe you an explanation.

It's hard for me to find the words that will let you down easy, but I'll try:


I'm not a real astronaut.

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My Modern Lemonade Stand

"If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all."

"When life hands you lemons, make lemonade."

I have bad luck.

I'm not talking about the major things in life. I'm blessed with a loving family, a great job and a roof over my head.

I'm talking about the little things:

  • If I make a bet with you, I will lose.
  • If I wash the car, it will rain (18 times in a row; ask my wife!).
  • I've gone gambling once and played the lottery once; I lost both times.
  • Whichever sports team I'm rooting for will lose.
  • Whichever stock I buy will go down.

This seems like an Eeyore mentality, but I have some entrepreneur blood in me. So I've decided to make lemonade.

This is my new business model:

For $50, I will cheer for your football team's opponent. The price goes up during the playoffs, and doubles for the Super Bowl (triple if you need me to watch the halftime show for some reason).

For $100 plus expenses, I will buy the stock you're short selling.

Jockeying for a big promotion at work? I'll write recommendation letters for your competition. Just $25 / letter.

Of course, with my luck, my luck will turn around right after I get my first client.

I can't win.


What would you pay me to mess up for you?
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Giving Thanks

It had been a long day.

Shopping for hours. This store, then that store. One side of town to the other.

Evan had done very well, all things considered. Our last stop of the day was the grocery store.

He ran around like an untied balloon. Too much energy pent up for too long.

I couldn't keep him out of the way of other shoppers. After he ran in front of the same lady for the third time, I grabbed his arm and yanked him out of the way, my face red with frustration and embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry", I said to her.

She stood there for a moment, just staring at my son.

I prepared myself for a snide comment or stern admonition.

Finally, she said softly, "Don't be frustrated with him. He's just exuberant. He reminds me of my son. He passed away around that age. Just try to enjoy every moment."

So today, I'm thankful.

Thankful for the family God gave me that science said I couldn't have. Thankful for a son who's excited to see and touch everything. Thankful for a daughter who just learned to crawl and lights up when she sees me walk into the room. Thankful for a wife who still wants to spend time with me after seeing me every day for 10 years. Thankful for an extended family who loves us and supports us far more than we deserve.

Thankful for every blessing He's given me.


What about you?

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My Second Chance - Guest Post for Bill Grandi

Today I am guest posting for Bill Grandi (Cycleguy).

Bill asked me to guest post about a time when I was given a second chance.

This was months ago, and months before that.

I'm glad he gave me a second chance...

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Changeup, Chapter 27

It was the top of the 9th. Last game of the season.

Two down. The runner on third inched down the line, ready to bolt for home.

Joe's knees ached, but the excitement kept his mind focused on the pitch.

He signaled low and in, and the pitcher complied.

Crack!

Sharp grounder to short.

The runner's cleats kicked up dirt as he flew home. Joe jumped in front of the plate, waiting for the throw.

The ball slapped into his glove. The runner's cleats came up. Joe braced for impact.

Crash!

Joe stood his ground, even as the breath was knocked from him.

He held the ball up for the umpire to see as the crowd cheered.

He took his time getting back to the dugout, catching his breath.

As he pulled the chest protector from over his head, he heard his coach call, "You're up, Joe. Do your thing."

He unclipped the shin guards and tossed them aside. He grabbed his bat and helmet and headed back to the plate.

It was a mighty swing, but a wimpy hit. The ball dribbled down the third base line.

Joe put his head down and ran like his butt was on fire.

He ran through the bag as the first baseman stretched for the throw. He wasn't sure whether he was safe or not, but then the crowd's roar let him know. He turned to grin at the first base coach, expecting a thumbs up. There was nothing but intensity on the first base coach's face as he pointed at second base with one arm and windmilled the other.

Joe was already running for second before he realized what had happened - the throw to first had gone wide and the ball was at the fence.

He slid into second, grinning and wheezing.

A moment later, he watched a long fly ball head to center field. He tagged up on second, and sprinted for third on the catch, easily making it on time.

Bottom of the ninth. Score still tied. One down.

Joe glanced to the dugout, raising an eyebrow at his coach.

His coach shook his head, slowly and firmly.

Joe knew he should play it safe.

Should wait for the hit.

Shouldn't risk everything on a hair-brained risky move.

But on the wind-up, his feet were already moving, as if they were in charge and he was not.

For a moment, he was terrified. But there was no turning back now, so he leaned forward, legs and arms pumping in a desperate effort.

He dove, arms stretched like Superman, stretching for the plate.

The catcher was blocking his way, but had taken the pitch too far in front of the plate after pushing the batter out of the way. Joe glimpsed the back 6 inches of the plate, exposed behind the catcher's shin guards.

The throw had beaten him, but he hadn't been tagged yet.

As he landed, he lunged. He felt the tag hit him hard on the head. He rolled away, momentum carrying him into the umpire's legs.

He lay there, tangled with the catcher and umpire, panting as the crowd's screams filled his ears.