The Baby Peed On My Cell Phone

I was home last Friday, a little after 12 noon, having slaved over a hot computer for 3.25 hours in my underwear (if you must know), when there was a knock on my door. (I live in an apartment.)  I went to the door, opened it just a little (maintaining my modesty), and a lady was standing there, apparently one of the other tenants in the building.  

She asked if she could borrow my cell phone. At that precise moment in time, I was listening to some Internet radio station on my cell phone (yes, kids, you can do that with an iPhone), so I offered to let her use my cordless home phone instead.  As I did not want to invite her in (I explained to her why not), I instead left the door cracked an inch or two while she made a couple of calls.

I did not intend to eavesdrop, but it happened nonetheless. And this is what I heard, more than once...

"The baby peed on my cell phone!"

Actually, she said the baby's name, but I won't say the name here, because who knows, that baby might grow up and run for President someday, and I wouldn't want to hurt his chances, because it was not a typical, everyday name (although not as weird as Metallica).

So, I guess not a wonderful choice as to where to leave your cell phone.  This really takes the cake.  I have a co-worker who lost two cell phones while fishing (separate incidents). I have a friend who got gravy in her cell phone. No, really, it's not that hard to do, if you throw the phone in the bag with your drive-thru order from KFC.  For a long time thereafter, that cell phone was referred to as "the gravy phone".

But pee on the cell phone?  I can only imagine trying to explain that one at the Verizon store. Wonder if urine-soaked cell phones are covered under the replacement plan?

Reminds me of an old Rod Stewart song...

"Urine my heart, urine my soul..."

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Woodward Dream Cruise

Fifty

Nine days ago, on July 30th, I turned 50 years old.

Fifty.

Wow. I still have a hard time processing that. Not that it bothers me... it just boggles my mind.  In my heart, I still feel like I'm about 35.  I am frequently telling my wife that I feel like a kid trapped in an old man's body. That's on me, a sign that I need to work on being healthier.

Why? Well, lots of reasons... one of which is: I want to have my mind boggled again ten years from now, when I turn sixty.

She Drove Me To Hell...

... So I Drove Her To The Nuthouse

The Fourth of July weekend was interesting for us. Tina had recently gotten her learner's permit for driving, so she was practicing (not that she doesn't know how to drive; she's been driving for decades... She just needs practice driving on the "right" side of the road, LOL). Couple that with my desire to show her various places in the great state of Michigan, and it's no surprise that Saturday afternoon eventually found us in the little town of Hell...

Here's Tina enjoying a cup of coffee at the Dam Site Inn, the only bar in Hell...

There is a very teeny tiny chapel in Hell, too...

We did see a couple who had just gotten married there, though we didn't see the actual wedding. Believe me, the wedding party would've filled the chapel up; your average shed is bigger than that.

We also mailed out a couple of post cards from the Hell Post Office, which is inside the Hell General Store... They take a lighter and singe your mail around the edges before it goes out (although you could decline that service... but where's the fun in that?).

There is a dam in Hell... (do you mean to tell me that you couldn't see that coming from a mile away?)

By the way... before you ask... yes, it was hot as Hell that day.

The next day, Sunday, started out with a real, old-fashioned 4th of July parade in Whitmore Lake, Tina's first...

After that, we wandered around for a while, and eventually wound up at The Nuthouse... 

... a sports bar in Lansing. (NOTE: This is not my photo.)

It was pretty good food, but what I really liked was the name... Needless to say, we felt right at home.