You're Going to Get Me in Trouble, Tom!

For more or less my entire life, I have been something of a numismatist...or coin collector, to the uninitiated.  I'm not sure if you're trained or wired to be one, but you'll know it when it happens.  I'll blame my dad, since he [the tooth fairy] left Kennedy half-dollars under my pillow when I was losing all of my baby teeth.  Those big, impressive-looking 50-cent pieces got me hooked.  All the other kids at school had never seen such a sweet coin before!

My interest in currency never ceased, and in my travels over the years, I've seen lots of neat-looking money.  One mysterious bill has, despite all the world's challengers, remained my favorite among paper money...the two-dollar bill.  Nobody uses them in day-to-day life, but they inexplicably remain in circulation.  Some people don't even think it's real money!  I count myself among the proud few who support Thomas Jefferson's paper-currency spectacle, and it is my fervent hope that it continues to be circulated for the duration of the Union...right there with the half-dollar piece!

In any case, I like to keep a couple Toms (as they're lovingly referred to in the Where's George online community) tucked in my wallet to start up a conversation about how sweet two-dollar bills are, or (if I'm feeling sassy) buy something and watch the cashier squirm while they:

A.  Try to figure out if it's actually money.

B.  Try to figure out where to put it in the cash drawer.

C.  Call their manager for assistance.

If I'm in a hurry, I'll just use the debit card.

I did this once at BD's Mongolian Grill.  There was a tip jar set out for all the cooks slaving away at the grill, so I tossed a Tom into the jar and waited to see if anyone would notice.  To my sheer delight, I saw the cooks dividing the bounty a few minutes later, so I watched intently as they found the two-dollar bill in their jar.  Upon seeing the Tom, they all began scratching their heads, passing it around and debating and shrugging their shoulders.  After a few minutes, one brave cook took the bill and pocketed it.  I'd be curious to know what he ended up doing with it...

Of course, there are also some hidden connotations wrapped around the two-dollar bill which can also make for interesting conversation.  As I understand it, Toms are commonly used for horse-race betting (the standard bet is $2) and if you're lucky at the track, you'll have a nice wad of Toms to take with you to the bar/gentlemen's club for some evening entertainment.  There are probably some other shady uses for Toms, but I'm not sure I want to know given I carry them regularly.  Anyway, I've had a couple of incidents involving two-dollar bills that confirm there is indeed a dark side to Tom.

The first one involved me and a bank teller.  I was at the bank making a large cash withdrawal...of $2 bills.  This really makes the teller work for their paycheck, since they usually have to spend 5 minutes rummaging around looking for that one strap of Toms they keep around for weirdos like me.  Anyway, after getting my big wad of bills, the teller's departing comment to me was not "Have a good afternoon" or "Enjoy the weekend", but rather "HAVE FUN".  I'm pretty sure she thought I was going to engage in copious amounts of debauchery, given my receipt of $200ish in Toms.

The other one happened to me just today, and inspired this blog entry.  I was at the gas station making a purchase and had my wallet out at the register.  The cashier immediately spotted a Tom sticking out of my wallet and said something to the effect of "Did you go to the strip club last night?".  Or maybe he was asking if I was going tonight.  I don't quite remember.  In any case, I told him that I just keep them in my wallet for fun, and not for purchasing dances at the nearest gentlemen's club...and I think it broke his heart just a little.  Poor guy.

Anyway, that's why I love Tom.  But someday, he's going to get me into trouble...

A Few Random Observations

As many of you know, I am the proud father of triplets.  This is both a blessing and a curse, as you can imagine.  Here are a few random thoughts I've found myself having recently, which are more or less a result of my progeny...

1.  I desperately need to renew my Sam's Club membership.  Now that the kiddos are potty trained, we are going through a TON of toilet paper!  It seems like I have to buy a 30-roll MEGA pack once a week.  Actually, I should probably conduct a study and determine my monthly toilet paper expense...it will probably be so much that I need to consider it a separate "bill" in my household budget.  *sigh*

2.  I desperately need to renew my Sam's Club membership.  My kiddos eat SO MUCH FOOD.  A loaf of bread might last two meals.  A pound of bacon?  ONE MEAL.  They LOVE bacon.  Actually, I'm thinking I might need to purchase shares of farm animals instead.  The kids would LOVE it, until they realized the sad truth that we eat farm animals.  Their stuffed animals that they sleep with are a cow, a pig, and a sheep, so I know this would be difficult on them...

3.  Pedal-less bikes WORK.  Last weekend I was kiddo-wrangling solo, so I took them on a nice long walk / bike training session.  For their birthday, I got them a Strider Bike.  Imagine a small bike with no training wheels, drivetrain or brakes.  Just paddle your feet on the ground Flinstones-style and go!  It's supposed to teach the critical skills of bike-riding first (balance and steering) so that you can skip the training wheels entirely when your kids are big enough for a "big-kid's bike".  Anyway, one of my boys ROCKED the bike-training!  I'm fully convinced he has learned how to control his lateral balance, and will have no problems handling a regular bike when the time comes...  The other two kiddos will take a bit longer, but I'm confident it'll work for them too.

As an added bonus, I also got to go back to the doctor's office just a few days after going in for the infamous CAT BITE.  Apparently, I am having an Ear Infection Revival.  In honor of my early childhood (which I have no memory of...another story yet to be told on my blog), my ear canals decided to both get infected, which renders me borderline deaf, and can also make my head feel like it's going to explode.  Anyway, my normal doctor couldn't see me when I needed to go in, so another doctor had to provide the diagnosis.  I was a little disappointed, though, because she didn't even mention my cat-induced wound (it was in my chart!).  I was FOR SURE the ear infections were a rare symptom of Cat Scratch Fever.  In any case, I got yet another prescription for antibiotics, so I'm pretty much going to be bacteria-free for the remainder of my natural life.  I couldn't even tell you how many days I've been taking the stuff!  On the plus side, I did actually have a diagnosable condition, so I at least felt justified in this week's trip to the doctor.  It's much more satisfying to pay those medical bills when you know you actually needed the help!

Anyway, I'm sure I'll have more interesting things to tell you soon...stay tuned!

I Didn't Become Catman, Sadly

Recently, some neighbors of ours were going out of town for a few days, and my dear wife Katie agreed that we would go over and take care of their two cats while they were gone.  Really, though, this means that I would be going over to take care of the cats, since one of them kind of scared her the last time we did this.  No big deal...I just go over, refill the food and water, and endure a little litter box action if needed.

The first day of cat-sitting went more or less without incident.  However, I did find that one of the cats had gotten himself locked in the bathroom for some significant length of time, considering he had pooped on the bath mat and [sensibly] peed in the shower at least once.  I'm estimating he was in there 20 hours.  Anyway, it didn't seem to make much sense to get a load of laundry going, so I instead cranked up the shower as hot as it would go, and I threw the bath mat in with a BIG dose of body wash.  That's probably the first ever poop-stained body-washed bath mat in the history of the world!

If I consider the first day of cat-sitting more or less without incident, day two was completely uneventful.  It's hardly even worth mentioning I went to see the cats on this day.

At the opposite end of the spectrum is day three.  I took my daughter Penelope (age 4) with me to check on the kitties, and in true girly girl fashion, she wore a tiara and took her pink parasol for our stroll down the street.  It was raining out, so the umbrella was functional as well as fashionable.  Anyway, we arrived at the house and were greeted by the kitty duo.  The non-incarcerated one was pretty nice to us, but our isolation-torture-survivor was all hissy with me and made it obvious he didn't want to see us.  Ignoring the cat, I went to the kitchen to find a Fancy Feast, since that seemed to make him happy earlier in the weekend.  After locating his treat, I bent over to grab the treat dish off of the floor and HE BIT ME!  Right on the forearm!  It was a solid bid too, with two fangs punching significant holes in my flesh.  So I started bleeding and yelled at the cat "YOU KNOW WHAT?  YOU'RE NOT GETTING THAT TREAT NOW!  BAD CAT!".  He didn't seem saddened by that one bit, however, since he kept on hissing and spitting at me.

At this point, Penelope started to cry since she was getting scared, so I picked her up with my good arm, and brandished her pink parasol at the cat with my bloody arm as I backed out the front door.  Once we were safe, we went on back home and I washed the tar out of my arm, since cats lick their butts.  After washing my wounds, I carefully applied some bacon-themed bandages to begin the healing process.  And those cats didn't get any more treats the rest of the weekend.

A couple of days later, I was back at work talking about my adventure with some of my friends, and they noted that my arm was looking a little infected. I hadn't really payed attention to it before, but it was definitely rash-like and red in the area surrounding the fang-scars...so I set up an appointment for the next day (nothing was available that afternoon).

The next day arrived, however, and my arm was looking much much better.  Hardly any redness or tenderness around the scars.  *sigh*  Do I cancel my appointment, or do I stay the course and go on in?  I waffled a bit as I considered my health, and eventually decided to keep the appointment...just in case I had a sudden onset of Cat Scratch Fever.

I went to the doctor's office, knowing full well that this was going to be an unsatisfying visit, given that I was more or less in perfect health at this point.  It's always disappointing when you've been suffering some malady for days and days and then an hour before going in to see the doctor, you miraculously heal and the doctor just looks at you and sighs and writes you a prescription for placebos or chicken-noodle soup or something.  You really just want him to acknowledge that you were in fact suffering and that you aren't just some crazed hypochondriac looking to deplete your FSA.  So I got checked in by the nurse, and temperature/pulse/blood pressure all looked perfect.  I admitted to her that it was looking much better than just a day ago, and that I felt a bit silly coming in, and she tried to keep my spirits up, saying "Well, you can never be too cautious with Cat Scratch Fever...".

Anyway, the doctor came in, and he did his best to not make me feel like a fool for coming in...but he just couldn't do it.  His first words upon greeting me were something to the effect of "Well, it sounds like you've had a wild weekend!".  I'm pretty sure he was smirking when he said this.  Anyway, he did give my wounded arm a good looking-over, and even went ahead and prescribed an antibiotic and ordered a tetanus booster, since it had been forever since I've had one.  What killed me, though, was he decided it would be good to hand-draw a picture of my arm in my chart complete with fang-scars in the right location.  He wasn't the best sketch-artist, though, so my wounded arm looked decidedly cartoonish, and he went a little overboard with the amount of puncture wounds.  And this is now in my permanent medical records.  I'm going to be a respected elder in my community someday and a youngish whippersnapper MD is going to get a laugh out of it...  *sigh*

Now that I'm taking my antibiotic and back on my feet again, I'm feeling at peace with the incident.  Sure, that cat has now tasted man-flesh and will probably become an orc-cat and try to devour the neighborhood, but at least I'm moving on...

Mike