What Do Astrocytomas and American Olympic Swimmers Have in Common? The PS!

 

Caught You Looking!  He's so dreamy!  Must be the hair!  Same Azure Blue as his eyes!

Hello Fellow Travelers!

What does a glance at the D-Bag of US Swimming, gold medal winner and all-around moron ("Dude, we were robbed!  At gunpoint!") have to do with spiritual enlightenment and "the discipline of gratitude"?  At first glance it would seem nothing. A closer look reveals they share one thread, a common element; my patient spouse's sometimes bizarre sense of humor.

My PS was  traveling to  the Oakland Hills for business.  But before getting to the picturesque hills he had to drive through downtown Oakland, old school 'hood, before anyone was "Straight Outta Compton", where Denzel was shot  to death in his car.  At a stoplight!  (Well, maybe "Training Day" was supposed to be in Philly or Baltimore ("The Wire") but you get the idea.

After seeing death I'm always preparing for danger.  It doesn't help that my PS is a bit of a wild one.  My cellphone was swiped a few years back, I wrote it off.  My PS used the GPS in my phone, located it and confronted the  dudes who threw the phone at him.

I was impressed but mostly I was scared.  He could have been hurt.   A phone?  It didn't matter.

Material items don't matter..  My PS matters a great deal.

I was therefore extra concerned yesterday when he drove through O-Town.

In "GOT" terms, getting to the Oakland Hills is kind of like Cersei's "Walk of Shame" to the Red Keep; You can see the castle in the distance but you have to go through a gauntlet to get there.

Since brain surgery (Thank you,Hamid!), I've become even more "risk averse".

I am never surprised by anything and I expect catastrophe at any moment, disaster at every turn.

After a very nervous few hours, I received a call from the PS,  He was on his way out of Oakland.

He said he had a flat tire and thought someone was stopping to help and he was robbed.

At gunpoint!

He goes on to tell me he's OK, the police had already been there and he was getting home without his wallet, meanwhile I'm busy looking up Western Union outlets and bank phone numbers.

I notice he sounds pretty smooth.  He sounds really relaxed for someone who just had a firearm pointed at them.

So before I directed  him to the nearest telegram place, it comes to me, I figure it out.  I'm slow but I remember what he thinks is funny.

"You're messing with me, aren't you.  This is one of your sick jokes."

Peals of laughter come through the other end..

"I'm a Gold Medal douche, and I was robbed!   At gunpoint!" he howled!

Hahaha.  Very funny, not.  I was worried.  Really nervous actually.

I am always looking for laughs, almost as much as I'm always looking for quality baked goods.

However, the PS calling me and doing a "Lochte" is just a complete mystery to me.

I just don't get it. I don't think it's funny.   Never did and I never will.

And he's always doing it.   And I'm like Robin Leach,(or Dana Carvey's impression of Leach), "I don't know why."

To quote a medalist who actually was a victim of a hare-brained scheme, Nancy Kerrigan, "Why?"

We get it, if my PS tells me about any sort of impending doom I'll send out the militia.

If it's a false alarm I'll stand down (heck, I'll just be thrilled to stand.  Up, down, whatever)

Is it a "guy" thing?  An O'Reilly thing?  What?

I spend a lot of energy getting "disaster-ready", as Tina Fey once observed on SNL, "Bitch, I can't be on higher alert!"

So if Prince is in a can or your refrigerator is running,do not call me!  It's not funny and I don't care!

I'm talking to you, love of my life!

I believe anything you tell me.  Tricking me is like tripping a dwarf - not difficult.

I'm busy relearning toddler skills, seriously, stop tripping me!

OK, it's a little funny...