A Progressive Thinking Gremlin

This week we drove past a Progressive Insurance office and the Gremlin asked if we could go inside and visit Flo.

“Flo isn’t in there,” Mrs. Lisakbooks replied.

“Sure she is,” responded the Gremlin.  ”They showed it on the commercial.”

“That’s just a commercial, honey,” Mrs. Lisakbooks persisted.  ”There’s not really a giant company inside there with a bunch of shelves full of files and a lady named Flo.”

“Then who is in there?” the Gremlin asked as we approached a stop light.

“Probably just a single person with a desk.”

“And that person is: Flo,” the Gremlin interjected.

“No honey, Flo is not in there.  She shows up on the commercial, but in the real office it’s just one person and Flo is not there.”

“So it’s like Flo and the rest of them are hiding?”

“Sure,” Mrs. Lisakbooks replied, “it’s like they’re hiding.”

Just then the light turned green.

“What makes the stop lights turn green?” the Gremlin asked.  ”Is there a hidden company for that, too?  And does Flo work there?  If she does, can we see her?”

Bathrooms for the Jetsons

I am about as close to as anal as you can be when it comes to public restrooms.  It is a wonder that I survived on an aircraft carrier for a six month deployment.  I am likely the closest personification to the American Pie character “Shit Break” that you will ever meet.

This serves as one of the explanations that automated bathrooms and I do not get along.  Don’t get me wrong, I am not a person who is against technology…but certain things should be left as-is.

For instance, I am not a fan of hands-free sinks.  You would think that I would be since I am such a germ-o-phobe, but it ceases to work out that way when the damn soap dispenser fires an ass ton of soap all over my shirt and pants…and I walk out of the bathroom looking as though I’ve just been released from prison.

This is nothing compared to the automated toilets.  Automated toilets have the most sensitive f#$ing motion sensors in the WORLD.  They are so sensitive that they cease to be toilets and they become bidets…it’s like they have an identity crisis.  When the Gremlin was little, Mrs. Lisakbooks used to take post-it notes in to cover the motion sensor up because the Gremlin was convinced the toilet intended to swallow her while she was peeing.  I don’t need to have my ass splashed by water while I am taking a dump…this is not France.  And I sure as hell do not need to have my ass splashed by toilet water thirty times in a three minute period just so that I can be saved from flushing the toilet once at the end.

One of my favorite shows on television is Person of Interest.  SPOILER ALERT: The Machine caught a virus at the end of this season which resulted in the need for a complete reboot.  I have the following questions about this show:

1. When did New York City become the safest place in the world?  These guys only get one number at a time, because evidently only one person is in danger at any given time in NYC…as opposed to Hawaii, which Hawaii Five-O will convince you is the most dangerous, terrorist infested place on the planet.  But I digress.  This leads to my second question…

2. Why did Finch not build the machine out of toilet motion sensors…which are clearly the most robust and reliable piece of technology on the entire damn planet?

Thus ends my tirade on automated bathrooms…for now…

Love Letters to Hermione

I selected the title in honor of my favorite blogger, The Good Greatsby.  Every time I read his blog I laugh my ass of – if you like what I write and you haven’t read any of his material yet, I’d highly recommend it.  In any case, he’s written a few love letters in his time – for instance, his Friday Love Letter to Nigella Lawson.

Now I’m not going to write a love letter to someone else…so you can cool your jets Mrs. Lisakbooks.  However, I am also not dead, and so I could not avoid noticing this – the latest cover of GQ featuring Hermione from the Harry Potter movies:

It’s difficult not to feel a bit guilty about noticing this picture; after all, I used to watch these movies with my nephew and I believe she was probably like a kindergartener at Hogwarts back then.  Yet when I saw this magazine cover it resulted in a very ugly involuntary bodily reaction and I thought to myself, “Oh my God…when the f$%k did that happen?”  Actually, I may have even said it out loud…I’m not really sure anymore.  I hope I didn’t say it out loud, but if you asked me a week ago I probably would have told you I hoped I wouldn’t have reacted this way to this magazine cover…and we all see how well that turned out.

This is hands down the “Least Hermione Looking Picture of Hermione” that I have ever seen. That said, let’s be fair – not noticing this would be like not noticing that Santa Claus likes to wear red when hanging out at malls in the winter – you sort of can’t miss it.  Now I’m not suggesting that I am not ashamed of this.  In fact, I am really going out on a limb even talking about this – I suspect it will easily draw over 50 comments on what a pig I am, and that’s just from my wife.

Criticize if you will, but I would argue that any heterosexual male with a pulse would notice this magazine cover.  They may lie and say something like, “She’s barely legal! I would never be interested in her!”  To these people I say: she’s twenty-three, and how does it feel living a lie?  They offer counseling for people like you who are in denial…at least I am willing to face into this even if it makes me want to crawl into a hole and die.

Seriously, this girl is going to kill it at the Hogwarts 10-year reunion.  I have this picture of my head of Ron Weasley standing there with a Bass Ale in his hand and telling his friends, “Sure…Harry Potter did Voldemort in, but do you all see who I did?  I mean, seriously people: do any of you really still believe that Harry Potter is still the one in our class that’s “Most Likely to Succeed?”  I am petitioning J. K. Rowlings even as we speak to have the entire book series re-named for me, and I think I’ve just about convinced her.”

So laugh if you will…and I am sure that you will.  I would like to say that I am laughing right there with you but I think my emotions fall somewhere closer to crying, though I am more than happy to share this so that you can have a laugh at my expense.  I will be interested to see if I can ever sink lower than this…but my money is on ‘no.’

What’s it Taste Like?

About a week ago, The Gremlin came down with strep throat.  The sore throat itself was not the biggest ordeal, nor was the rash that came with it.  Instead, it was the course of antibiotics.

I am quite confident that if the Gremlin’s life was in danger and she needed an organ transplant to live, she would only agree to do it in the event that we could guarantee it didn’t taste bad and that she could go to Dairy Queen if she agreed to cooperate.

Mrs. Lisakbooks knows this full well, and so she wasted no time in developing a star chart for the Gremlin when she was ordered to take 10-days worth of amoxicillin.  At the end of the star chart was a guaranteed trip to Dairy Queen.

In case I have not mentioned this, I am somewhat anti Star Chart.  I am a believer that the Gremlin is like a little terrorist, and I am like Harrison Ford in Air Force One, and I prefer not to negotiate with terrorists.  Instead, I prefer to identify the three things that I can take away which are most likely to get the terrorist’s attention.  Then I execute.  This does not always result in a peaceful end, but I believe I usually win.

In any case, the star chart was probably the right answer this time around.  The Gremlin made it through 9 of 10 days on this medicine, and then broke out in a rash which I can only describe as a something you could photograph and threaten kids with in the future.  Something like: “Jimmy, if you don’t quit hitting your sister you’ll go blind…or if you’re really unlucky you’ll wind up looking like this little girl!”

Mrs. Lisakbooks was out at a doctor’s appointment of her own when this went down.  I managed to get a hold of her and she asked me to contact the doctor’s office to see if there were any appointments available so that someone could examine this rash.  Know that at this point, we did not yet know what the rash was.  I will now provide you with a re-enactment of how this went down.  For my own lines, I will insert both the lines I actually said out loud…and those which I thought about and wanted to say, but did not.  I will leave it to you to sort out which is which:

Me: Hello Triage nurse.  My daughter was just in to see you all for a rash and strep throat, and now she has a brand new rash.

Nurse: Can you describe it?

Me: It’s ugly.  And also red…like if you didn’t know her you’d think my kid was just a red kid.

Nurse: Do you think it’s the same as the previous rash?

Me: Do you really think I’d be calling you if I thought that?  What the hell is wrong with you?  Hold on…I’m getting a beep…I think it’s my wife….

Me: Hello?

Mrs. Lisakbooks: So did you reach them?

Me: Yes, I am on the line with them now.

Mrs. Lisakbooks: And?

Me: And…I wish you would stop interrupting me.

CLICK.

Me: Are you still there?

Nurse: Yes.  So has she eaten anything new over the past day or so?

Me: I have no idea.  My wife would know the answer to that.  I probably shouldn’t have hung up on her just now…I suspect she’ll be less willing to help me.

Nurse: Okay.  How do you think she’d feel about taking a Benadryl pill?

Me: My wife?

Nurse: No, sir.  Your daughter.

Me: Oh! I think she would hate having to swallow a pill.

Gremlin (from bathroom): I DON’T WANT TO SWALLOW A PILL!!!

Me: Did you hear that?  Can I maybe just bring her in and you guys could put her under and do whatever you have to do?

Gremlin (from bathroom): WHAT DOES IT TASTE LIKE?

Me: What does what taste like?

Nurse: The Benadryl won’t taste like anything, you just swallow it whole.

Me: I know that.

Gremlin: The pill I have to swallow!

Nurse: Does she have any other allergies you are aware of?

Me: Nothing.

Nurse: So she’s not allergic to anything?

Me: No, I’m talking to the Gremlin. I want the Gremlin to know the pill doesn’t taste like anything.

Nurse: Who’s the Gremlin?

Gremlin (from bathroom): DO I HAVE TO?

Me: Do you have to what?

Nurse: Look, I just want to know if she’s allergic to anything…

Me: Wait, I’m getting a beep.  It’s probably my wife, and she’s the only one who will know the answer to that.

Nurse: Sir, you should really know…

CLICK

Me: Hello?

Mrs. Lisakbooks: Why did you hang up on me before?

Me: I’m trying to talk to the real nurse.

(Moment of silence as I realize I’ve just said something I will regret later).

Mrs. Lisakbooks: So what did she tell you?

Me: Benadryl.  Pills.  She says she needs Benadryl.

Mrs. Lisakbooks: She’ll never swallow that! How am I supposed to get her to swallow it?

Gremlin (from bathroom): I DON’T WANT TO SWALLOW A PILL!

Me: Be quiet or I’m taking you to the doctor right now!

Gremlin: NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

Mrs. Lisakbooks: Did they say they’d see her?

Me: I haven’t convinced them they should see her yet, and I think the longer this goes on they may become convinced they never want to see any of us again.  I have to go.

Mrs. Lisakbooks: Wait, you need to ask…

CLICK

Me: Hello?

Nurse (tired): Yes, sir.  Did you ask her if your daughter was allergic to anything else?

Me: Shit!

Gremlin (from bathroom): You still haven’t told me what it tastes like!

Me: What?

Nurse: I ASKED YOU IF SHE’S ALLERGIC TO ANYTHING!

Me: Not you, I’m talking to the Gremlin!

Nurse: Who IS that?

Me: Okay, for the sake of moving the conversation along…let’s suppose she’s not allergic to anything else.  If I brought her in, would you guys take a look at her?

Nurse: I kind of think it’s a reaction to the amoxicillin and we really don’t need to see her.

Me: See, I feel like my wife isn’t going to like that answer.

Nurse: You mean the wife you’ve hung up on twice now?

Me: Yes, that’s the one.  So she’s already mad…are you sure this is what you need to do?

Nurse: I don’t know until I speak with the doctor, but I suspect you’re in for a long evening regardless.

Me: It’s already been pretty long and I’ve only been on the phone for five minutes.

Gremlin (from bathroom): I asked you WHAT DOES IT TASTE LIKE?

Me: I told you…NOTHING…YOU JUST SWALLOW IT!

Nurse: WHO ARE YOU TALKING TO SIR?

Me: Don’t worry about it…just…look, I’m getting another beep.  How about I click over and get the Cliff’s Notes on my daughter’s complete medical history and you go ask the doctor if he’ll see her.

Nurse: The doctor is a she, sir…

Me: Sure…make it about that…

CLICK

Me: Hello?

Mrs. Lisakbooks: So how’s it going?

Me: I feel as though I can’t make any progress with these people, and you keep interrupting me.

Gremlin: I’M NOT SWALLOWING A PILL!

Me: If you don’t swallow the pill I swear to God I will take you to the hospital and make them give you every shot there is.

Gremlin: NOOOOOO!

Mrs. Lisakbooks: That wasn’t nice.

Me: Sorry.  Did you get the Benadryl, or what?

Mrs. Lisakbooks: Well, I can get that, but I still don’t know how we’re going to get her to swallow it.  Did you ask?

Me: DAMMIT!

CLICK

Me: Hello?

Nurse: Yes, sir…I’m here

Me: How do we get this kid to swallow the Benadryl?

Nurse: You can chop it up and put it into ice cream that she’ll swallow.  Also, I spoke with the doctor, and SHE said…

Me: That ice cream thing is a great idea.  Hang on…

CLICK

Me: Ice cream.

Nurse: It’s still me, sir.

Me: I can’t believe it! I think she hung up on me!

Nurse: Me neither.  Look, sir…the doctor says it’s a reaction to the medicine.  Just get her some Benadryl and it should help.

Me: So he doesn’t want to see her?

Nurse: No, sir.  SHE does not want to see her.

Me: So we’re still on that.  Great.  Thanks for your help.

CLICK

Gremlin: I DON’T WANT TO SWALLOW A PILL.  I’LL DRINK THE OTHER MEDICINE.

Me: The other medicine is what gave you this rash.  You can’t take it.

Gremlin: So wait…does this mean I don’t get ice cream?

Me: Be quiet…I’m trying to call your mother.

Mrs. Lisakbooks: Hello?

Me: Get her ice cream.  Then we crush up the Benadryl and put it in there, and…shit!

Mrs. Lisakboooks: What happened?!

Me: I forgot to ask the nurse whether we stop the amoxicillin.

Mrs. Lisakbooks: Don’t say that word unless the house is on fire or someone’s arm has fallen off.  Also, don’t you think that’s kind of a no brainer?

Gremlin: Am I going to get my ice cream?

Me: Only if you take this pill.

Gremlin: But I don’t want to swallow the pill!

Me: I DON’T CARE!

Gremlin: But Mom said that if I finished the other medicine I would get ice cream!  Why can’t I just have that?

Me: When you are a high-profile defense attorney will you promise to buy me and your mom a vacation home in Boca?

Gremlin: What’s that?

Me: Hold on, I’m getting a beep.

Gremlin: What are you talking about?

Me: NOT YOU, YOUR MOTHER!

Gremlin: WHAT?

Mrs. Lisakbooks: Why don’t I let you go…

CLICK

Me: Hello?

Nurse: Sir, it’s me again.  We realized that since she isn’t going to finish her amoxicillin we need to give her some zithromax to finish up on.

Me: Zithromax?

Gremlin: WHAT’S THAT?  WHAT’S IT TASTE LIKE?

Me: BE QUIET! I’M TALKING!!!

Gremlin: o-KAAAAAAY!!!!!!!!

Nurse: Look…we just called it in…just please go pick it up and give it to her.

Gremlin: Can I take it instead of the pill I have to swallow?

Me: NO! BE QUIET!

Nurse: Sir, I have to go…

Me: Ok, thanks.

CLICK

Me: Are you still there?

Gremlin: Yes, what does it taste like!

Me: Not you, your mother!

Gremlin: But I want to know what it TASTES LIKE!

Me: Just be quiet I have to call your mother back!

Gremlin: Why can’t I just take the pink stuff?

Me: BECAUSE IT IS WHAT GAVE YOU THE RASH IN THE FIRST PLACE!

Gremlin: But how am I going to get my ice cream if I don’t finish it?

As you can probably imagine, this went on for sometime after which I had a shot and a beer.  I hope you enjoyed this exchange more than I did…

Time to Earn My “S”

The Superman “S” is a favorite of athletes…nothing gets on my nerves more than when I see a rookie in the NFL manage to score a touchdown and lift his jersey to reveal that he’s wearing a Superman T-Shirt underneath.  Because you’ve been in the NFL for like 10-minutes and we should all believe you’re Superman?  I can’t really point fingers, though, as I had these sorts of ego issues when I was in my young twenties and they lasted until about a week ago.  I realized life as a crime fighter was not going to work out for me after I tried high jumping over our dog and wound up doing a face plant.  I figure any individual who cannot high jump a Labrador certainly cannot leap a tall building…and hence, I must be a mere mortal.

Then I had another epiphany: my blog is called jefflisakbookS.  Yet you only see one book.  Where are the rest?  In my brain, but not on paper.  It hit me recently that I have ideas for four more Bryant novels and I have written exactly zero of them.

The bad news is that the first book took about 6 years…so if you do the math as a reader you have the same concerns as the fans of  George R.R. Martin…I may die before the series is finished…even though I am not quite 40 years old today.  Thus, you are extremely courageous should you decide to continue to follow the lives of Will Bryant and Drew Heisler…because you may never know what happens to them.

In any case, wish me luck.  As always, thanks for being great readers and great friends – and don’t worry, none of this means that the stories about the Gremlin, Post-Tween, or the dog which I cannot high jump will cease.

Churching with the Gremlin

Tomorrow is a big day for the Gremlin.  She will receive her first Communion.  She has told me no less than 100 times that she isn’t interested because the bread and wine taste awful.  She would have been a terrible participant at the Last Supper:

Jesus: Take this bread and eat it, for this is My Body, which shall be given up for you…

Gremlin: Jesus, this crap tastes like cardboard!

Jesus: Take this cup and drink from it, for this is My Blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant…

Gremlin: Which tastes like vinegar!

Jesus: That’s it!  Get out!

As many of us know full well, kids are not big into church.  Post Tween was never into it either…in fact, he tried to light fire to the church once (see God Help Me Raise This Tween).  Tween, however, was much less vocal about it than the Gremlin.  When I am able to get the Gremlin to pray, she recites her prayer as fast as she possibly can.  There are certain times in church where I wouldn’t mind if the priest tried this…because no one has ever cranked out a mass in less than 15 minutes and I think it’s something worth striving for…but I don’t know that I want my kid doing it.

Those who were raised Catholic will know that with the First Communion comes the First Confession.  In this rite of passage, the confessor tells their sins to a priest who gives them a penance and then absolves them of their sins.  The Gremlin came out of hers last week happy to inform us that she only had two things to tell the priest, and she was not obligated to tell us what either of them were…and neither could the priest…and so we would never know.  She was also excited to inform us that if she did what the priest told her to, there would be nothing to tell him next time and so this would be it.  I am still trying to figure out how she only came up with two things to tell him since I believe she probably creates roughly two per hour on a normal day.  I waited until later that evening to tell her that she could probably generically add “lying” to her list of sins for all future visits.

In any case, please keep her in your prayers and wish us all luck.

 

Fun on the Rocks

It has been several years now since we took the kids on their first trip to Disney.  We went with my wife’s side of the family.  One of the more memorable moments was our trip to the Haunted Mansion.  What I remember of the Haunted Mansion from my days of old at Disney was that the effects were spectacular, but cartoonish and fun.  I encouraged my own kids and my niece and nephew to ride.  The Gremlin and my niece and nephew were preschoolers, and Post-Tween was only about nine.  I found out after the fact that Disney had remodeled the ride that previous January – and made it more “realistic” (translation: traumatic).  This served as a great explanation for the screaming and crying that I got to witness on all four kid’s faces as our cars reached a point in the ride where they briefly faced one another.  This was a low point in the trip.  The ride was terrifying to them, I wondered what I was thinking when I encouraged them all to ride, and I wondered how I’d be able to afford their therapy bills over the next several years.

This past weekend the Gremlin and I went camping with the father/daughter group we are involved in.  If it seems to you as though I have a lot of amusing but negative stories about camping experiences…that’s because I do.  I suck at camping: period, end.

Early in the day the Gremlin was climbing on some of the rocks around the campground…of which there are many because this camp is up in the mountains.  It just so happens that a little ways down the road from camp is a place known as Baughman Rocks.  The boulders at this joint are roughly twenty feet tall and sit very close to one another.  When the Gremlin heard this, she wanted to check the place out.

The rocks got their name from a man who lived over 100 years ago.  The story is something along these lines:

A farmer native to that area, with the name Baughman, was looking for some cattle that wandered away.  His youngest son couldn’t keep up.  Old Baughman was a mean-spirited man and struck the boy with a stick.  The boy lay motionless after that.  Convinced he’d killed his son, the man hid him among those rocks.  The older brother later told the authorities.  When the authorities went back to those rocks, the boy’s body was nowhere to be found.  Nonetheless, based on witness testimony Baughman was sentenced for attempted murder.

Charming…but I swear to you that there’s actually a plaque at the entrance that tells this story.  It makes for a good campfire story, because the plaque finishes by explaining that to this day no one knows where the boy’s body went.  Don’t believe me?  Google it for yourself – or just read about it here - http://www.salisburypa.com/baughmanrock.html

Before we got to the rocks I told our group leader that he should check out the plaque.  Specifically, I meant that HE AND HE ONLY should check out the plaque.  I thought he’d find it amusing.  Unfortunately, being the leader that he is…he assumed I meant for him to read it to the group…fifty percent of whom are made up of 8-year old girls.  I tried to stop him, but was near the back of the pack as we made our entrance, and did a poor job of getting his attention…and will now have to increase the amount of money that I set aside each month to pay for the therapy of kids whom I’ve damaged with my idiocy.

Additionally, I should mention that I’ve been traversing these twenty feet tall rocks with Post-Tween for as long as I can remember.  However, my memory clearly doesn’t reach back to when Post Tween was eight…because if it did it would have occurred to me that an eight year old is petrified of being on rocks which are over twenty feet high, even if the space between each rock is only one to two feet wide.  I think the fact I have an older child has skewed my perception a bit on what the younger one may or may not be capable of.  In case you were wondering, fathers of eight year olds who don’t have older siblings that climb around on twenty feet tall rocks (and therefore skew their perception of what age is appropriate for this sort of activity), will  tense up…thereby exacerbating the anxiety that their own children are already feeling.  We do have a few fathers who are outdoor types who enjoy climbing and hiking.  I am not one of these, but they were there with us on this trip and I thought perhaps they’d save me with their own enthusiasm and adventurous spirit.  However, any hope I had of redeeming myself faded quickly when one of “those guys” declared that the rocks were the perfect hiding place for Copper Heads and Rattlesnakes.  Once this was stated and I saw the facial expressions of my fellow Dads I felt as though I was at risk for becoming an addition to the plaque which told the story of people who had been killed at Baughman Rocks.

Later that evening, the Dads in the group were reassuring and told me that they felt it was good for the girls to “overcome things they were afraid of” – and so in their mind the trip to the rocks was a victory.  This was great until the girls began asking us where we thought that kid’s body was now.  I told them all that I imagine he woke up and went to live with another family who was nicer to him…he then lived happily ever after…and I stressed this happened over 100 years ago, and so there is no chance he’s around now.  I thought silently to myself that a bear probably came and ate him, but chose not to share this.  I’d already caused myself enough grief.  The fathers who’d earlier tried to reassure me informed me that they were going to head to someone else’s campfire and asked if Snake-Dad and I could stay behind and get the girls to bed.  What was I going to say to this?  I’m not sure what time those Dads returned to our cabin, but myself and Snake Dad went to bed sometime after midnight when all of the girls finally settled down and went to sleep…actually, I’m still too tired to remember what time this was precisely.