Note to Commentors

Just thought you might like to know, I'd love to have you call, but I'll know it's you if you ask for George. Silly people--of course, that's not really his name.

Phone Conversation 7

Caller: Hey, we've got a lot of water backed up here. I need someone to come out and look at it.
Me: Okay. I'm really quite good at looking at things. I'll be out running errands in about an hour and I'll stop by then, if that's convenient for you.
Long pause...
Caller: Is this George's Plumbing?
Me: No, it isn't. You know, I was just talking with a friend of mine. He says that friendship is fairly easy, it only requires a little bit of thought now and then. I don't necessarily agree with that, because I think a good friendship requires regular maintenance. What do you think?
Caller: Well, mostly my friends and I just go drink on the weekends. But if I need anything, I know they're there for me.
Me: That must be a comforting thought.
Caller: Yeah, it is.
Me: So, do you ever just get together and talk?
Caller: We go camping sometimes.
Me: Hmmm...I'm not a great camper, but I can see how some people might like it.
Long pause...
Caller: I should probably call George's Plumbing.
Me: Well, you did say you had water backed up, so I think that's a good idea. Do you still want me to come look at it?
Caller: You can come look at me.
Me: Thank you. I'll pencil that in on my errand list.
Caller: See you later, then.
Me: Good-bye.

Phone Conversation 6

me: I just got ANOTHER PHONE CALL FOR GEORGE'S PLUMBING!!!!!
Tolkien Boy: :D
me: That makes six in the last two days.
TB: Your conversations, recorded, are hilarious.
me: I thought it was funny, too, at first, so I was messing with them. Now I'm getting tired of it. This is the latest conversation:
Me: Hello
Man: Um, is this George's Plumbing and Heating?
Me: No.
Man: Oh. I'm sorry.
Me: It's okay.
Man: um...bye.

Perhaps I should start a new career. I'd be a good plumber, maybe.
TB: Please don't. The thought of you as a plumber is almost overwhelming.
me: Why?
TB: You're far too talented as it is. If you could do plumbing, I'd have no potential skills to bring to the friendship.
me: Wait--friendship requires skills?
TB: No, I'm kidding. All that friendship requires is a little bit of thought, now and then.
me: I completely disagree. I think of friendship all the time. Nonetheless, it still challenges me.

Phone Conversation 5

Me: Hello, you have not reached George's Plumbing. This is not his number, it's mine. Please hang up, recheck the number in the phone book, and dial again.
Caller: Ummm...okay...but I'd rather talk to you, if you don't mind.
Me: Oh, hi Mom. I'm getting so used to the wrong number phone calls, I'm not even checking the caller ID anymore. Not that it would matter on this particular phone. We can't see the readout anymore.
Mom: So, do I have to call back or is it okay if we talk now.
Me: Well, I don't like giving special treatment to anyone, but since you birthed me out, I suppose I can make an exception just this once.
Mom: Sam, you're a little bit disgusting.
Me: I know, but funny. I can hear you laughing.
Mom: It's a combination of bad taste and insanity, something I seem to have passed on to you.
Me: No question about it. Thanks, Mom.

Phone Conversation 4

Me: Hello?
Caller: My kitchen floor is flooding.
Me: Wow, that must be frustrating.
Caller: Yes, will you send someone out? My address is: xxxx xxxxxx xxxxxx.
Me: I'm the only one here right now, and I can't come.
Caller: Oh, it's lunchtime. Okay, I'll keep mopping, but will you send someone as soon as they get back from lunch?
Me: Actually, I don't expect anyone until 3:00. That's usually when they get home from school.
Caller: School?
Me: Yes.
Caller: Isn't this George's Plumbing?
Me: No.
Caller: Oh.
Me: Sorry I can't be of more help. Good luck with that kitchen.
Caller: Good-bye.
Me: Good-bye.

Phone Conversation 3

Caller: Hey, is George there?
Me: There is no George at this number.
Caller: This isn't George's Plumbing?
Me: Nope.
Caller: I must have the wrong number.
Me: Yes.
Caller: Can you tell me what this number is?
Me: You dialed it, you would know better that I.
Caller: You don't know your own number?
Me: What makes you think I live here?
Caller: Do you?
Me: Yes.
Caller: So, you don't know your own number?
Me: I do. But I don't give it out to strangers over the phone.
Caller: Oh. Good idea.
Me: I think so. Good-bye.
Caller: Good-bye.

Phone Conversation 2

Caller: Is this George's Plumbing?
Me: No, it isn't, but that does seem to be the question of the day.
Caller: What?
Me: You have the wrong number.
Caller: Oh, sorry. Do you have the right number?
Me: I have the right number for me.
Caller: What?
Me: No, I don't have the number for George's Plumbing. However, I'm assuming it's similar to this one, so maybe if you just start calling, but change one or two numbers, eventually you'll get the right place.
Caller: What?
Me: Or, you could look it up again in the phone book.
Caller: Where do you think I got this number?
Me: Off a restroom wall?
Caller: What?
Me: Good-bye.
Caller: Good-bye.

Phone Conversation

Caller: Is this George's Plumbing?
Me: I'm sorry, you have the wrong number.
Caller: You're sure?
Me: Last time I checked, yes.
Caller: This is the number in the phone book for George's Plumbing.
Me: What a coincidence. It seems to be my number as well.
Long Pause....
Caller: Could I talk to George?
Me: I suppose you could, if he lived or worked here, which he doesn't.
Caller: Do you have his number?
Me: No. Do you?
Caller: No. Do you need to call him?
Me: You never know. I might need a plumber. I'll go check my faucets. Thanks for calling. Good-bye.
Caller: Good-bye.

banned 7-up commercial

Perhaps I should carry a purse...

I don't. I never have. It just seems to be one more thing that I might misplace, and I prefer pockets.

But AtP and DJ have made a lasting impression on my daughter. DJ fell in love with AtP's manbag/murse, and asked for one for his birthday. So we found a replica complete with the picture of Mao and the Communist propaganda printed boldly in Chinese on the front flap. Tabitha is highly impressed with DJ's new manbag, and DJ doesn't leave home without it.

A couple of days ago I was driving Tabitha to school. She was intently watching a woman who was walking down the street. Tabitha turned to me and said, "Mom, look at that lady. She has a womanbag."

Feminism at its best...

"And if you claim there is a hell, then we shall meet there."

I am not a good hospital patient.

Well, the first twenty-four hours I was, but as soon as I found the answers that made everything make sense again, life became beautiful...and sort of hilarious. It's impossible to survive three days and two nights in a lockdown mental facility without a sense of humor.

I was provided the following toiletries (none of my own were allowed):
1. toothpaste/brush
2. deoderant (not to be confused with anti-perspirant, which is another thing altogether)
3. a bar of soap
4. hand lotion
5. contact lens care kit
This ensured that I wash my hair with hand soap. Not knowing what else to do, and assuming that it would imitate conditioner (and plus, it smelled like coconut--the only scented thing in the whole place), I used the hand lotion on my hair, as well, and then gave thanks to the Lord that there are no mirrors in the entire ward.

I was issued a pair of scrubs so immense that I could easily have hosted a dinner party inside of them. Imagine Samantha wandering about the psyche ward in a shirt falling off her shoulders, but being too preoccupied with making certain the pants stayed up to care too much about the shoulder thing. Finally, on day two, a male nurse suggested he might be able to find me something a little more attractive--but a men's small is still rather large--only a small dinner party could be hosted inside the new scrubs. Sigh...

Characters of interest in the Behavoioral Health Unit:
1. A person I am supposed to visit teach--but she's that sister who makes the appointment and then is never home...we all have them...anyway, I introduced myself and suggested that I was so desperate to see her that I'd admitted myself to the psyche ward when I knew she'd be coming. Then I asked if she'd allow me to share the May Visiting Teaching message with her. Then I cracked up. I'm so hilarious.
2. Psychiatrist Man who knows everything, doesn't think I'm crazy (just a little unwell...yeah, he actually sang a bit of that for me), and has no expression whatsoever. He was pretty wonderful, and just what I needed to get back on track.
3. Therapist Number One (TNO) who had no idea what to do with me because Psychiatrist Man told her I was pretty advanced in my therapy, so he was uncertain if a project would be of help to me. As projects are how TNO deals with all her patients, she was somewhat put out and found one for me anyway (which I chose not to do). She told me she expected me to take the project seriously and report to the therapist who would be taking her place the next day. I giggled and said, "You're not serious!" She assured me that she was. I ignored her.
4. Psychiatrist Woman (Asian with very pretty legs...) who analyzed and reported on my psyche tests. She was confused because the tests showed conflicting results. She asked if I knew why. I told her I thought it might be because one can only answer three true/false questions before becoming bored. Answering 995 was cruel, unusual punishment and I probably wasn't paying particularly close attention toward the end. She said, "Well, then we'll have to do some of this orally." Fine by me--she was lovely company. Darrin agrees with me.
5. Therapist Number Two (TNT) who made certain I attended group therapy from 8:45 a.m. till 3:30 p.m. (half-hour lunch break) today. Group Therapy became Samantha therapy as all other participants started dropping out after lunch. By 1:30, I was on my own and in a one-on-one session with a very earnest, serious TNT. I wanted to drop out, as well, but more than that, I wanted to go home. I finished the therapy sessions.
6. Mr. Harris, the older man with Alzheimer's. This was genuinely a huge highlight for me. Mr. Harris decided that I was the newest doctor in the ward. He was adept at swiping patient charts and bringing them to me. No one could understand the constant stream of words he muttered, but occasionally something intelligible slipped out. After I had refused the sixth patient chart, he said clearly, "Well, you can only do the best you can do. That's all anyone can ask..." then shuffled away, disappointed that I didn't want his offerings. During the second evening, a psych tech lost a small piece of paper and exclaimed about it in Mr. Harris' hearing. Mr. Harris immediately began searching his pockets for the paper, then moved behind the desk and began rifling through open file folders and other confidential materials. Four nurses tried to distract him away from his task, but he intended to find that paper. A male nurse held up a nearby magazine and called, "Mr. Harris, come look at this magazine with me. Look--it's Patrick Dempsey! The hottest male star in America!!" Then he turned to the rest of us and sheepishly said, "Well, that's what it says..."
Amazingly, Mr. Harris moved to admire the sexy Patrick, and the nurses cleaned up his mess while giggling at the two men reading the women's magazine. Male nurse said, "Hey, whatever works...and Patrick Dempsey is hot anyway..." Finally, to make my stay complete, Mr. Harris decided to move into my room with me. Six times the nurses moved him back to his own room, but he was determined. Finally they dragged me out of my beloved group therapy and asked me to verbally reclaim my territory, feeling that if I told Mr. Harris to leave my room, he would. I started giggling and said, "No way!! I'm leaving this afternoon. As far as I'm concerned, if he wants my room, he can have it." The nurses started talking about legalities and liabilities. I grinned and went back to therapy. When I returned, my room was intact, and Mr. Harris was sitting in the hallway, peacefully coloring in a coloring book.

Finally, about an hour before discharge I was allowed to wear my own clothes (wow--they smell so nice!) Visiting Teachee gave me a hug good-by, TNT breathed an audible sigh of relief, Mr. Harris tried to kiss me (thank you, sexy blonde nurse, for saving me from that privilege), and Patrick Dempsey Admirer Nurse escorted me to the ground floor and out the door. The first thing I did when I got home was shower...for a long, long time.