After mentioning yesterday on Facebook that I would be having lunch with one of my doctors who is a homosexual and hates my drug, some questions arose from a few readers. Therefore, today, allow me to briefly explain.

You see, I am a medical representative for a pharmaceutical company. I can’t divulge which one, nor can I talk about my drug. But suffice it to say, for better or worse, this is what I have done with my life…so far. When I started blogging I wrote a Dear Mr. Healthcare Provider…sir… post long before anyone but Deb and Nannette were reading me. So being a pharma whore, I am largely looked down on.

Now, I have a tendency to be long winded, which I swear I won’t do today. I just wanted to point out one thing that I love about my job. Yesterday my lunch was at a clinic whose doctor does not make appointments. If you want to see him, you come to the clinic, sign in, and wait. Most times, up to FOUR HOURS. His waiting room is standing room only, and people love him…which is fine. But yesterday, one woman was irate in the waiting room due to the duration of time she had been waiting.

Now, I HATE to wait. For ANYTHING. So the greatest part about my job is that I get to spend so much time with so many doctors that I know EXACTLY who to take my kids to, and who to avoid. It really is an unbelievable benefit to having a job that is heartbreakingly demeaning at times.

So today, my friends, I say this to you, as well as that woman in the waiting room yesterday…if you hate your healthcare provider, there are hundreds of thousands of them out there to choose from. And if you REALLY want to find one that will have little waiting room time, go camp out at a high volume primary care clinic, and wait for a rep to come through…stop them and ask who they love in the area. I’m telling you…we aren’t just annoying pharmaceutical dirty pirate hookers, we actually may know a thing or two about a thing or two.

Thanks again to Angie
for another ragin’ Wordful Wednesday…

Also Thanks to 5 Minutes for Mom for “Wordless” Wednesday…I always have such a problem being wordless…

Today is about you, my friend.

I want to tell you some things, things that you probably won’t understand until you are much older. Maybe you’ll even be a Daddy yourself when you feel what I’m going to tell you, and I hope you feel most of it for yourself.

Boys think their Daddys aren’t scared of anything, but I have to tell you, I was scared of you.

See, I had a bit of a rough time as a kid. I was younger than the other boys, and had some stuff happen, and so I was afraid that if I had a little boy I would have to guide him through some of the things that life puts in the way, and I wasn’t sure I could do a very good job.

It’s easier for Daddys and their daughters, and harder. And your sister was such a pill, she really had me scared of adding to the family. But Mommy and I wanted to make our family grow, and wanted to make sure your sister could have a friend to love, so we tried again.

On the day you were born, the doctor asked, “Would you like to help?” Thinking he was just having fun with me, I replied, “Sure! But I could use some help!” And then as if to silence my arrogance, he handed me a gown and gloves, and took me to where you would join us. He took your head, and led it to the light of the room, and then asked me to step in, and take my son. You barely resisted before you entered my life, falling into my grasp. And you were born.

Any fears or insecurities I had about having a son have mostly gone now. You arrived as if to push those fears to the side, and accept what I had to offer without question. While I look into your face and worry about what has yet to come, you stare at me with eyes that could care less. Unconditionally accepting eyes. If I am going to disappoint you, I am really gonna have to want it. And I don’t. I sometimes feel like I’m supposed to be tougher, and not hold and kiss you as much. I just can’t seem to stop.

I promise you I will try to let you live your life without telling you how it will be, as long as you ask for help when you are confused. There is a lot I will not be able to give you, but a lot I can. All you ever have to say to me is, “Dad, can we please talk?” And we will.

I didn’t know what I was going to be able to teach you if I still had residual doubts in my own life. The thing is, I’m going to try to not put my past on you. I want you to find your own way, and I want to help, too. There are things that may not be easy for you, and I may be able to help. But I’ll try not to make my struggles your struggles.

After your sister was born, I thought I might not have enough love to give to another. And then you came. And I had enough love for you both, and Mommy too. Any fears I had before of having a son are now gone, and so are any memories of a full life without you. I’m only going to put pressure on you to do one thing…be happy.

So today I try to put down my own baggage, and help you avoid your own.

Happy Birthday, sweet boy. On this, your second birthday, I wish for you a life filled with the kind of love your Mommy and I feel for you.

Yet Another Jay and Deb Production.

Not to be outdone by my dear friends Deb and Angie, I present to you my attire today. Perhaps this photo looks like any other, but for me it tells a number of stories.

Vans, 7 years old, $40. I love Vans. They make me feel like I’m 40 and a half again.

Shirt, Steve and Barry’s, $6. I ABHOR spending money on clothing. But this little number is a perfect ride, until the bus screeches to a halt in wardrobe hell at…

Lucky Jeans, I have no idea where, $100. Yes, my wife buys me jeans. I tell her not to. She does it anyway. I tell her to take them back. She won’t. I tell her I’d rather die than wear something called Lucky Jeans. She says whatever. Then I wear them, TO CUT WOOD. $100 jeans to cut wood. Yup, perfect.

Respirator, $18, Harbor Freight. My fav article of clothing today, since sawdust and smoke give me a lung infection and make me sick for 2 weeks. Not kidding. Both my neighbors smoke, btw. In their driveways. I’m buying a gun.

And one final point tonight, my wife and her friend went shopping on Saturday. I fully prepared myself to see her come through the door with her arms full of bags. Hell, I expected it. Instead, she walks in with ONE bag.

Guesses? Anyone? C’mon, push yourselves…

Yep. Jeans. For me. $100.

It’s kinda like when that tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it fucking scream that it doesn’t want any more fucking $100 jeans.

Hey. It’s Tuesday’s Tribute tomorrow…are you gonna play? I’m thinking of tributing my neighbors, clutching their packs of Lucky Strikes, and giving me the finger from their yards as they make every effort to exhaust the bulk of their lung butter in the direction of my kids. Or maybe I’ll tribute that little hooligan who I saw break a bottle at the base of their driveways tomorrow morning. Sure, I’ll go looking for him with you, just gimme a call after you change those tires.

Last week I charged you lovely souls with coming up with birthday ideas for my blushing bride, and you came out in force. Many of you felt that the way to her heart would be a day at the spa, which I thought was a great idea. Almost ready to pull the trigger on that idea, I was suddenly approached by my nosy little gal, who informed me that she had been reading the post, and although she likes spa treatments, she is already sitting on a gift card to one that she has had for almost two years. I asked her, “Well then, sweetie, is there something else you have your heart set on?” She replied, “Yes, I’d like an electric griddle for when I make pancakes”, something she loves to do.

So I went out today and got her the griddle she asked for, which I kept hidden upstairs tonight while she opened her real present…which was wrapped in a griddle box. I thank you all for your suggestions, you really came out strong for me. In the end, I thought the safest course of action was not to give her what she asked for, but what she wanted.