The Patron Saint of Real Estate

I'm not kidding. There really is a saint who is supposed to help you sell your house. At this point I'll take help from anyone. Someone informed me that if you bury a statue of St. Joseph upside down in your yard, your house will sell faster. There's even a book called, "St. Joseph, My Real Estate Agent." I haven't gone to church in years, so I don't think any Saint is going to want to help me sell my house. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if the Saints were actively trying to block my sale. Maybe this house is my purgatory, or hell for eternity. It seems to me that burying a religious statue upside down would be more of a Satanic practice. If Satan wants to help sell my house I'm fine with that. He could even have a commission. I'd even sell it to Satan if he met my price. It has a finished, walk out basement. I think he'd like that.

Good Luck and God Bless New Orleans

With Hurricane Katrina bearing down upon New Orleans I noticed through my StatCounter service that my page has gotten a handful of hits this week from web searches rejated to hurricane themes. This is due to a post I had on Aug. 2nd about hurricane names. With so many people's lives now in peril due to a hurricane I feel badly for having made jokes. How ridiculous is it that people, possibly in danger, go to the internet looking for helpful information and their web search turns up my jokes? Also, how ironic is it that this is Hurricane Katrina and in the 80's a band called Katrina and the Waves had a hit song "Walking on Sunshine?" I'm guessing that song is not getting a lot of play on New Orleans radio stations.

I'm Dying To Buy This House

In my quest for a new abode with two and a half commodes I've been informed that a house in which a horrific multiple murder occurred a year ago will soon be on the market. I believe I could probably get a really good deal on a very good house. I may or may not believe in ghosts, but either way, I'm not worried about being haunted. I didn't kill them, so why would their ghosts haunt me? And if they do, screw them. For 2400 square feet, central air and a price under $150,000 I can ignore a little demonic wailing. I'll just get one of those white noise machines. I'm thinking that I could put on a kick ass Halloween party every year. So what if my kids start dressing like the Addams Family? I have yet to visit the house in question, but I assume that all the blood will be cleaned up by now. If not, it's another bargaining chip for me. Blood red would definitely clash with the curtains I've got picked out. If the stains don't come out I'd have to change my whole decorating scheme. That might be a deal breaker for me.

The Narcoleptic Babysitter

All summer long my kids have gone to a day camp at school. Last week however, camp ended, leaving a two week gap until school starts. So of course we hired a babysitter. The daughter of a co-worker. A teenage girl. Now several years ago when I was a teenage boy, I was a big fan of teenage girls. As an adult, not so much. As a therapist who works with emotionally disturbed children and adolescents, I have never seen an angrier group of human beings than teenage girls. If you're the mother of a teenage girl, I would fully understand why you drink so much. So anyway, I agreed to let one of these estrogen fueled psychopaths babysit my adorable and angelic little boys. I didn't buy a nanny-cam because my kids are old enough to speak for themselves. When I got home and interrogated my little cherubs about how the babysitter did they replied, "It was fine. She slept in the chair all day." Needless to say, although my boys were none the worse for wear, I wasn't thrilled at the idea of them being virtually unsupervised all day. Of course I called the teenage Satan's mother and politely asked that she remind her spawn, I mean daughter, to stay awake all day the next day. So on day 2 I get a phone call at 7:20 a.m. from the young demon's mother saying that it was so unlike her daughter to sleep during the day that she just knew something was wrong and she took her to the emergency room last night and so she would not be available to babysit. I'm thinking that maybe it's just because vampires aren't supposed to be out in the daylight hours. I'm fairly sure that the young vixen was not in a coma. Unless I see a hospital monitor with a flatline I'm not going to forgive this kid. It appears to me that she was supported in her effort to gracefully quit her job after one day by her mother, whom I'm pretty sure was a teenage girl at one time.

Just A Quick Question

If the U.S. Constitution mandates a separation of church and state, why does all our money say, "In God We Trust"? Do atheists have to spend different money?

House of Horrors

I continue my odyssey in search of a suitable home. Last night I toured a house with an engineer I hired to evaluate the house and tell me if there was anything structurally wrong with it. I had not met the engineer in person prior to having him show up at the house to be inspected. He turned out to be older than the dirt on which the house was standing. He was also very fond of liver spots and skin tags. I think that without the liver spots and skin tags there wouldn't have been anything left of him. Soon after entering the house we went into the basement. We were alone as I surveyed what I hoped would soon be my new domain. Then I turned around to find Engineer Skin Tag with his belt undone and his drawers threatening to follow the law of gravity. After my heart skipped a beat, or two, I realized he was just a fat, old man trying to keep his pants up. This turned out to be a re-curring theme throughout the rest of the inspection. I paid by check. It's fortunate that I was paying a flat fee rather than by the amount of time he spent because it turns out that Engineer Butt Crack was quite a chatty Cathy and very little of it had anything to do with the house. Here is a partial list of things I learned from my new best friend:
1. There are only 3 universities in the United States that "turn out 2nd Lieutenants, and Norwich University is one of them."
2. At the base of some mountain in Maine there is "a perfect strain of mice" that researchers like to use for experiments.
3. Once he, his mother, and his brother went fishing in the Araganon Creek, "no deeper than your crotch," and pulled out 150 trout in one weekend.
4. Either he mated with a water buffalo, or he was much more attractive in his youth, because he's a great-grandfather now. I'm betting that his kids and grandkids resemble the mailman.
5. After a year at Norwich University he transferred to the University of Maine where the aforementioned researchers once asked the students to help put out a fire to save the research mice. My guess is that the mice set the fire to keep Engineer Blabbermouth from talking to them anymore.

Well, I'm not sure if I'll buy the house, but I'm pretty sure I'll specifically ask for a mute house inspector next time. I'll be happy to accept a written report. Stay tuned for tomorrow's feature, "The Narcoleptic Babysitter!"

Nuts on the 'Net

I love the StatCounter service that I connected to this blog. As I reported two weeks age, with this service I can see how people got to my web page. Aside from hitting "next blog," or getting to my page from the comments I leave on other people's blogs the next most popular way people find my blog is by web searches for a certain topic. There are two web search topics that continue to show up on the list, and both are just obscene. The first is obviously the Dave Coulier freaks. The second is only slightly less disturbing. At least twice every week I see that someone found my page through a Dave Coulier web search and at least as often someone has found my page by doing a web search using the words "moms" and "bikinis." They get my web page because of a post about 5 weeks ago that I titled "Gooby's Mom in a Bikini." I'm sure these pervs are sadly disappointed to find that I didn't include a picture of Gooby's 60 year old mother in her bikini. Hey pervs! If you're reading this, stay away from my blog. Go subscribe to a porn site or visit a porn shop in Canada. Or at least leave a comment you rude bastards. I've got a much longer idea to write about that I'll get to tonight folks. See you then.

I Am SO Cool!

I wonder, at what point in your life you stop being cool? Some people never achieve "cool." Of course, if you're reading my blog you obviously qualify as cool. If you are reading my blog, I obviously qualify as cool too. Most of us at some point in our lives figure we're pretty cool, and very often others think we are too. Some people have cool only briefly, like Pee Wee Herman and the Spice Girls, while others maintain it forever, like Sean Connery and The Beatles. In recent weeks I have been informed by my 12, almost 13 year old son, that I am not "cool." There was a time he considered everything I did "cool." How dare he say I'm not cool! This is coming from a small person who can't drive, who doesn't have a credit card, who's never had sex, and who, until today, did not even have a cell phone. No offense to my son, but he is so not cool. He has no idea. To him, the epitome of cool is having an earring and a bitchin' skateboard with flame decals on it. (He would be so embarrassed that I described his skateboard as "bitchin'" I don't really use that word either, unless I'm making a joke, which he also hates me doing) I'm mean really, in the guy way of keeping score, I totally rule over him. I have done so many cool things that he is years away from approaching. C'mon, I've had sex. He can't even say I'm lying about that. He is my proof. Really, to a 13 year old, what could be cooler than sex? Of course, being a good Dad, I won't throw that in his face. If we played the Kevin Bacon game I could connect myself to so many famous people it would make his head spin! Has he ever met any famous people? I'm drinking a beer right now. Just because I can. The next time he drinks a beer will be his first and it will probably be a huge deal. To me it's nothing. HA HA HA! The only reason that little punk has any cool concert t-shirts is because I go to the concerts and buy them for him! If he says I'm not cool one more time I'm grounding him! How's that for cool? Let's see the little man enjoy his cool in his room until tomorrow! You all think I'm cool, right? Right? Uh... hello? Is anyone there?

"Phil Is On A Vacation Far Away.....

Come around and talk it over. There's so many things that I wanna say..." Sorry folks, but I'm going on vacation and won't be back to blog until about Sunday. I'm taking my herd of mini-Phil's to Cleveland to see a baseball game. I'm sure the trip will be worth a few stories I can re-tell here. Quick, who got the musical reference I used in the title and first two sentences? 1000 bonus points if you get it right.

Thought For The Day

This from my youngest mini-me: "I wish the world was like a claw machine. Then I'd pick what I want."

Youth is Wasted on the Young

Getting older has it's advantages and it's disadvantages. I've been fighting it since I found myself on the wrong side of 30.

Advantage: You don't have to do anything that causes you to have to take any tests if you don't want to.
Disadvantage: You lose hair in some places and gain it in others.
Advantage: When you go somewhere for 40 hours a week at least you get paid for it.
Disadvantage: Thinking about your colon.
Advantage: Sexual partners usually have some idea of what the hell they're doing.
Disadvantage: Your sexual partners are usually other old people who might be losing hair in some places and gaining it in others.
Advantage: You don't have to hang out at crowded, noisy bars.
Disadvantage: You look like a parent looking for their child if you try to hang out at crowded, noisy bars.
Advantage: If you're having sex with someone you don't have to hide it from your parents anymore.
Disadvantage: If you're having sex with someone you do have to hide it from your kids.

Any other suggestions readers?

Snow White Had It Easy

When Snow White went house hunting, she just walked into the woods and there it was. I'm house hunting now. Unless you have several million dollars, getting one house ready to sell while trying to buy another is about as much fun as shaving with a cheese grater. I'm selling my house because I thought it was too small. In preparing to put my house on the market I've done a lot of cleaning and fixing up. Now it's so nice I wish I could live in it. In fact, with much less clutter I think I've added about 100 square feet to the inside of my home. Remember how Snow White's house also came with 7 little men? Sometimes houses in real life come with people in them too. In one house I looked at there was an old lady in a housecoat asleep in a chair in the corner. If she was more attractive and willing to cook and clean I might have condsidered buying. Another house I looked at featured the owner sitting barefoot in a chair watching television. I definitely did not want a house his bare feet had been walking around in. If Bigfoot had invested about $30 in a pedicure he probably could have sold his house a lot quicker. All in all, at this point if I can find a decent house in my price range with 4 bedrooms and 2 1/2 baths I think I might tolerate 7 little men already living in it if they're willing to wash the dishes now and then. But if those little bastards wake me up with their incessant singing and whistling there's going to be hell to pay.

Female Bodies Part II

You're all very lucky I haven't included a picture with this post. As I stated in Female Bodies Part 1 (June 11 if you want to troll the archives), I work in an office that is usually mostly women. Some days I'm the only guy there. While that is generally a good thing, I sometimes learn things about my co-workers I'd rather not know. The discussion I walked in on today wasn't anything new to me, but it got me to thinking. Apparently, just before I walked into the room, the ladies in the office were discussing their ahem,..menstrual cycles. As I've said before, and this bears repeating, just because the word menstrual has the word men right in it, that does not mean we caused your periods, so don't take them out on us. Especially at work. Today the ladies were discussing how when one or more women spend a lot of time together, such as in a college sorority house, or an office their cycles get in sync. Just how exactly does that happen? Are your uteruses (or is it uteri?) emitting some kind of radio signal to each other? If they are broadcasting some kind of signal, then what the hell is it doing to me since I have to spend all day walking back and forth through these signals? Is it like standing too close to a microwave, or using my cell phone too much? Will I get some kind of tumor from all this high frequency exposure? Imagine the blast of radiation a gynecologist must get at work. Imagine the week they all have PMS each month! I'm taking vacation that week every month for the rest of the year.

Sport or Not A Sport? That is the Question

As a "guy" there are few things more enjoyable than having an afternoon free to plant yourself in the Lazy-boy and click on ESPN for an afternoon of sports viewing. The average guy is about as picky about what sports he will watch as he is about what women he will date. For a guy though there are few things more disappointing than clicking on ESPN and finding something on that's not a sport. We all know what I'm talking about. I would like to propose rules for what qualifies as a sport. Anything that does not qualify under my rules should be broadcast on a different network. Maybe the Game Channel or The Loser Network.

Rule #1: It's not a sport if the participant has no idea they are competing. Examples: horse racing, hunting, fishing and dog shows. These stupid animals are just jumping through hoops to get some sort of treat at the end. Who gets the prize money and trophies? Hunting is only a sport if the animals are shooting back.

Rule #2: It's not a sport unless there's a final score everyone agrees upon. Current "sports" that should be ruled out: Gymnastics, diving, and any kind of figure skating. Special mention goes to rhythmic gymnastics which is just gymnastics for people who are afraid of heights. That should be in the Special Olympics maybe.

Rule #3: It's not a sport if you can do it while you sit down drinking beer and smoking. That rules out poker, Scrabble and spelling bees. Technically it also eliminates NASCAR.

I'm sure those of you from Australia and other countries could probably come up with several examples of things in your country that are played as sports, but really aren't. Of course in the U.S. we generally don't consider it a sport unless it's played in our country.

Isn't It Ironic?

It's like rain on your wedding day. Or something else I can't figure out. What I can't figure out is why Dave Coulier is so popular. Before you do anything else, stop reading this, go to "Archives" on the left side, click on "April 2005" and scroll down to the April 6th post titled, "Dave Coulier?!!?" After you're done reading that, come back to this post. That was the third post I ever wrote for this blog. It's still one of my favorites. For about the past month I've had a service called Stat Counter connected to this blog. It tells me how many visitors I have, where they're from, and how long they spend reading the page. What it also tells me is how they reached my page. Most people reach it through clicking on "profile" or on "webpage" when they see a comment I left on another blog. For the past month that I've had Stat Counter, what has constantly amazed me is the number of people who find my page by doing a web search for things on Dave Coulier! I'm sure that without the picture above, most of you would have had to send a little electrical messenger across one synapse to another to take the elevator to the sub-basement of your long term memory to dredge up why the name Dave Coulier sounds so familiar. Of course by mentioning him again, I'm sure I've started another round of page hits from Dave Coulier freaks. (I'm laughing my ass off at the thought of one of them reading this) Can anyone explain to me why, in the name of all that is holy, is anyone doing web searches on Dave Coulier? It's like a free ride when you've already paid.

Shopping Mall Security

Shopping mall security has to be the absolute lowest form of law enforcement, if you can call it that. Have you ever seen the mall security "officers" that drive around in one of those three-wheeled, glorified golf carts? I'm pretty damn sure if they try to pull me over driving that thing I'm going to see if I can outrun them to the border. I'll just pull out into traffic on the main road laughing my ass off as those pencil necked geeks in their motorized tricycle are forced to stop helplessly at their perimeter. They really are usually pencil necked geeks. Either their necks are really skinny, or the mall outfits them with shirts whose collars are so big that they just hover around their necks like the rings of Saturn. Now if I get a ticket from a regular cop for speeding I go to traffic court right? What happens if I get a ticket from mall security? Do I go to the food court?

Oh No Ozone!

On my way to work this morning I saw something I've never seen before. At least not in my city. You know those electronic signs above the roadways that give you messages about accidents or construction ahead? Today the sign I passed under said, "High Ozone. Please refrain from idling." Idling? Idle what? Idle chatter? American Idol? False Idols? Billy Idol? Ozone is never anything I've worried about before. I live near a medium sized city in upstate New York. I can see having ozone problems in New York City or L.A. perhaps. If it was up to me I'd have a whole lot less ozone frankly. Isn't the ozone essentially our atmosphere? The layer of invisible stuff that blocks out at least some of the sun's harmful UV rays? Aren't the scientists constantly worrying about the hole in the ozone getting bigger? Why? If the hole is bigger, as I understand it, we'll have more global warming. Living in an area that gets a lot of snow, I'm all for global warming. Screw you equator people. You've had it too good for too long, and now that the rest of us are getting the chance to enjoy some warm weather you're crying about too much heat. In fact, I do everything I can to take down the ozone layer personally. When I had a car with a sun roof and freon air conditioning, I would drive around with the sun roof open and the air conditioning on just hoping the freon would cut a swath right through the ozone above my car. When they outlawed aerosol hairspray, I stocked up just so I could take out a little bit of the ozone every day for the rest of my life. That and because I had to keep my mullet in perfect shape.

Thought For The Day

Some people are like Slinky's. They don't serve any real purpose, but it still makes you smile when you push them down the stairs.

Hurricane Names

Well it's hurricane season in the Northern hemisphere. Fortunately I don't live in an area that ever gets any hurricanes. In the U.S., our weather people have a tradition of naming hurricanes with people names, such as Hurricane Phil, or Hurricane Betsy. Then the news people are astounded that people refuse to leave their homes when a hurricane is coming. Who is going to be afraid of Hurricane Betsy, or Tropical Storm Cecilia? If you want a storm to sound as scary as it is, why not give it an intimidating name? How about something like Mega Hurricane Deathtron? That might get people out of their homes. Or maybe something simple like The Hurricane of Death? If the Hurricane of Death was headed for my house you can bet I'd get the hell out of the way. Then again, if they named hurricanes like that you wouldn't have people selling post hurricane t-shirts that said things like "I Was Blown By Betsy 2005."