I’ve been out of commission for a bit. I’m sure you noticed. I’m not sick or incarcerated or anything like that…no no, it’s more along the line of having put in close to 40 hours in the first three days of this week…
So, a synopsis;
Thanksgiving with friends; FANTASTIC. No idea why I didn’t think if this sooner. Great food, lots of laughs, and no stress. Friggin’ GENIUS. I highly recommend this. Granted I had to wait 2 HOURS for a cab…but even that wasn’t much of a break in my stride.
Work; STAGGERING. So busy there aren’t words. But it’s awesome. Love it.
Bring on Christmas with Kid Brother, the Old Man, and my nieces. I watched the Charlie Brown Christmas the other night…I’m ready! Besides, there’s no stress associated with this side of the famdamily so I just wanna get there!!
Oh, and my birthday is coming. 35. With a bullet.
And lastly, the moustache comes off tomorrow. There is still plenty of time to donate $10 and come to the party, or email me for details (leave a comment) and I’ll tell you how to pay at the door.
I hate this mo. HATE. IT.
Wanna know what it takes to survive Thanksgiving? Glad you asked…allow the Queens of the Stone Age to answer…
Rock on, good luck, and Happy Thanksgiving!
This weekend I started my Christmas shopping…that’s right, you heard me. I started and in fact have almost finished my shopping. This is more out of necessity than it is out of smarts. See, this time of year is not usually all that good for me. No, it’s not that I suffer from the Holiday Blues or anything like that. It’s just that I hate seeing this season turn people in to monsters. The crowds, the stress, the cramped malls…all of it. It makes us all nuts and I can’t deal. However, I usually do very little to counteract any of this. I tend to forget how much suckitude is involved by St. Patrick’s day, only to wind up shell shocked at just how many cars are parked in the mall the following December.
Not this year.
This year I was finally smart enough to realize that it’s gonna get ugly in the shopping centers of America in like 2 days. So, I finally went early.
Quick question, by the way:
When you suburbanites are walking in a parking lot, you do realize that other people are still driving, right? I ask this because it seems that you all tend to walk right down the god damn middle of the area I assumed was for cars to utilize while looking for parking. I could be wrong on this, but I don’t think that I am.
Moving right along.
Once inside, it was so very cool to see a store that wasn’t packed with the stark raving mad faces of the holiday sickness. People were just…kinda…shopping. There was no pushing. No shoving. No rushing around. Just people shopping. For me, this is very important due to the Great Holiday Shopping Incidents of ’92 and ’01. Let me explain;
In 1992 I was a 19, maybe 20 year old kid working at Sears. It was as soul sucking an experience as you can imagine. I digress. I worked there for the Christmas season one year and found myself face to face with a screaming woman who was attacking me with everything she could muster because we had the audacity to have sold out of the Craftsman Toolbox she just had to have for her husband. “It’s right here in the fucking flyer!!! How can you be OUT OF IT?!?!?!”
Did I mention it was 3:00, 12/24/1992?
I held it together as well as I could, for as long as I could trying oh so calmly to explain to her that it’s the day before Christmas and that flyer had come out almost a week before…this did very little good.
“What the FUCK am I supposed to get for my husband NOW?!?!”
How about some fucking pain killers, lady, ’cause livin’ with you must fucking hurt like all god damn hell!!!
Honestly, that’s a quote. It was also the end of my days at Sears.
The Incident of 2001 was much more entertaining, really, and involved me catching someone removing a gift from my shopping cart because it was the last one in the store. I don’t want to get in to too many details, but suffice it to say that this (1) ended badly for the would be thief, (2) did involve store security who indeed (3) went to the replay booth in the security office to check the tape…and found this man doing exactly what I had accused him of when they found me shaking him by the lapels of his jacket while he proclaimed his innocence and claimed that I was actaully trying to take it from him.
Ahh, good times. Makes me want some egg nog right now.
But really, I always think it’s a shame that the worst parts of so many of us come out at this time of year. It’s like we forget the spirit of the season and focus on the price tags attached to it….we’re more in to having things look right than we are in having them be right. That’s sad. So this year, with the Holiday season just a few days away and most of my shopping done, I’m going to try and slow down a bit and really enjoy it. I want to soak it all in and really feel like the Holidays are coming and all but here.
This year there will be no shaking of other shoppers…nor screaming at customers. I will not focus on all the insanity, but rather on the meaning of the season that sends us all out to the streets looking for Craftsman Toolboxes the night before Christmas. I might even sing some carols this year…who knows? Stranger things have happened and, last time I checked, the Egg Nog is spiked, isn’t it?
So then…where’s that mistletoe and who’s standin’ under it with me?
Saturday night I was invited to attend the CD release party for Ms. Julia Nixon at the Lincoln Theater. Now, honestly, I didn’t know anything about Julia Nixon other than the fact that she’d been in Dream Girls and, I was told, she’s a DC icon…which to me means you gotta go check it out, right? I mean, the word “icon” isn’t something that I take lightly. Really, how many times have you gone to a show to see someone called a “legend” and thought, “what the hell are they talking about?” But, I figured why not…if it’s no good, I’ll write about that.
SO glad I went.
Right off the bat, I met up with our hosts and my man, Listen to Leon. If you can’t have fun at a free concert with Leon, you can’t have fun. Well, unless there’s an open bar. Which, ironically enough, there was.
After a rousing introduction from Allison Seymour we all settled in for what turned out to be an extraordinary show…Julia stood in front of a full string section, drummer, percussionist, two guitar players, a pianist, a bassist, and 3 back up singers…and made you absolutely forget that they were there. From the second she opened her mouth you just knew that this was not some run of the mill singer. Oh no. God no. You can hear the Opera background…the stage training…the control and more than all of that…the straight up emotion. Honestly? It was nothing short of inspiring. To see someone perform when you know none of their music and have them capture your full attention? That’s a gift, and she’s certainly got it.
Personal favorites were the smoldering R&B song Southern Boy, which really, truly turned the heat up in the Lincoln, (not to mention the audience, who was lettin’ her here it with a chorus of “that’s RIGHT girl!”) and Bring Back Springtime which…umm…well…OK, see what had happened was that there was this spec of something that flew in to my eye right as she was really gettin’ in to it and, see…yeah…
It’s a sad damn song, ‘k?!
Julia engaged the crowd while sipping on a Martini between songs…explaining exactly what she was thinking about when she recorded her new record Keepin’ on Track and furthermore, what she intended to share with us, her audience. Understand, this is not a weak voiced trollop bouncin’ around in skimpy outifts to a song she didn’t write with an army of producers finding ways to make her sound like she’s talented. Julia Nixon is a powerhouse, and if you like this type of music (Adult Contemporary R&B) or you just appreciate truly talented people, you owe it to yourself to check her out.
You’ll see in no time why the word “icon” is, in her case, well deserved.
Special thanks to Livinston Buzz for the invite!
Like many of you reading this, I woke up to rain and thought “Great…juuust great”. I could hear it beating down the second my eyes opened and I immediately thought of how crappy my commute would be; grouchy pedestrians…the nasty smell that goes along with a train load of wet Metro travellers…the idiot drivers who act as though they’ve never seen anything fall from the sky before…
What a lovely Thrusday morning this is shaping up to be.
So, when the New Girlfriend (NGF) and I headed up the street towards the Metro, both of us with our heads tucked under our umbrellas, I wasn’t exactly wide eyed. Oh, and add to the list of annoying morning issues the sound of the hundreds of children making their way to Harriet Tubman Elementary. Oh yeah, it was a hum dinger of a start to my day. Every morning, rain or shine, I find myself thinkng the same thing;
Shut up shut up OH FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SHUT UP!!!
Today however, as I walked up Irving Street, I saw one little boy waiting to cross the street…I don’t know why he stood out, exactly, but he caught my eye. It might have been the bright red jacket he was wearing, or the fact that he was waiting for light…staring straight ahead at the crossing guard and the crossing light like a good kid should. NGF and I were having a light hearted conversation about the weekend and doing some Christmas shopping for our families when the light changed and, off the little man went.
Then everything slowed down…
Coming down the perpendicular 13th St was a School Van/Bus. You know the ones…not a full sized bus, but bigger than an average van. This bus was turning down Irving St, towards the little guy in the red jacket crossing the street.
He’s going to slow down and wait…let a car pass through the intersection and then go…
But he didn’t…he just kept coming.
I turned and looked at the crossing guard…who was staring up Irving…not even looking at this little guy coming right towards her. He’s RIGHT THERE…he’s staring RIGHT AT YOU..turn your fucking head!…
By now, the kid in the bright red jacket was nearing the halfway point of his journey across Irving. He’s got it, I thought…just as I saw the bus start to fucking accelerate to get across 13th and down Irving ahead of the oncoming traffic. Right then, everything sped back up.
At this point I was maybe 15′ from the intersection, and I realized that no one except for me saw this little boy in the bright red jacket. No one. Not the crossing guard who never looked, not the school bus driver who was trying to beat traffic and wasn’t watching where he was actually going. Not the other pedestrians or even the cars waiting for the light. This kid was in the blindspot of the entire Universe.
Except for me.
Whoa! whoa! WHOA! I screamed as I stepped out in to the street waiving my arms like I was trying to signal a rescue helicopter…FUCKING STOP!!! STOP!!! WHOA!!!!
The bus driver hit the brakes and looked annoyingly at me and went to give me the “get out of the way” hand sweep…
The little boy in the red jacket turned and looked at me as if he didn’t know the answer to a math problem…
The crossing guard (in title only) turned to me and looked angry, as though I’d somehow violated the rules of her fiefdom and started coming towards me ready to yell…
And then, in a moment that Scorcese couldn’t have filmed any better…
They all saw each other.
The little boy in the red jacket looked over his shoulder and saw the front of a van not two feet from him. It must have looked like the scariest monster he’d ever seen…with a grill for teeth and two burning headlight eyes…he turned and ran back to the side of the street he’d started from…and started to cry.
The bus driver finally saw the little boy when he turned back and realized there was a bus behind him. OK…OK he said to me with the universal hands-held-up-mea-culpa…
OK? It’s not fucking OK!! Open your fucking eyes! You almost killed that kid you fucking idiot!
And the crossing guard, now finally in the street, but on the other side of the bus (with an obstructed view of the retreating boy she should have seen all along) started with, calm down, what’s the problem?
Don’t tell me to calm down where the fuck were you?!
Then she noticed the boy on the other side of the street and waived him over…it’s ok, I got it.
Yeah, now you’ve fucking got it. Open your eyes!
NGF and I headed on our way with our hearts pounding and our own eyes wide open. At first I thought it was the straight up incompetence that I’d seen that had me so angry. Honestly? That was only part of it. The rest of it was the fact that if I hadn’t done anything…if I’d just gone along my original train of thought, “they’ll see each other”, I would have watched that little boy in the red jacket get run over. The bus driver, having never seen him, would have hithim, gone right over him, kept right on going…
And my day would have started with the death of a little boy in a red jacket.
Now, I saw a gang banger get popped in Dorchester, Ma once. One guy leaned out the window of an 80’s Caddie and shot another guy right in the stomach. Happened maybe 20-30 yards away from me. I had to give a statement to the police and everything. I never lost a night’s sleep over it.
But this? This I am pretty certain would have messed up more than my sleep patterns. I immediately thought of my nieces. Of NGF’s little girl. Hell, I thought of just about every kid I’ve ever known.
Parents…how can you deal with it? With knowing that even when they are surrounded by the people that are supposed to be watching out for them, the bus drivers and the crossing guards of the world…that the Universe can turn a blind eye and suddenly there’s a monster bus taking away your world?
Think about this; somewhere out there right now is a parent that doesn’t even know, and most likely never will know just how close they came today to losing their kid. That little boy in the red jacket isn’t going to go home and say “He mom, today I was crossing the street, with the light like I’m supposed to, just like you taught me, and this bus almost hit me! Yeah, only, guess what? I never saw it, and this guy had to jump out in the street and stop him!”
(And then I learned all of these really great swear words!)
I don’t know how you parents do it. I really don’t. Me? If I had a kid? I think I’d lock them in their room until they were at least 16. You think I’m kidding, I know you do. Heh heh.
Between monster school vans, senseless violence, falling off the jungle gym, pedophiles, and Christ only knows what else? I just don’t think I’m built for having kids. I mean it. And short of saying “I left you something in your room” and then nailing the door shut once they go in there? I got nothin’. Really, that’s my whole parental approach right there.
And somehow I think Child Services would frown on that sort of thing.
I’ve been feeling a bit underwhelmed lately. Uninspired. Maybe it’s this ridiculous looking moustache or maybe it’s just a downturn. Could be that baseball season is over…I’m not above that. Either way, I’ve noticed that I’m not really reaching out for “it” (whatever It is) with the usual voracious INPY style of late.
And that’s all good.
You can’t have highs without lows.
I can tell you that I’ve been feeling more excited by the passing minute about seeing my brother, his family, and the rest of our family for Christmas. It just can’t come fast enough. I miss them all every day and the thought of spending the Holiday there with them makes me smile a big ear to ear goofy grin.
I could also say that I can’t believe that Thanksgiving is NEXT WEEK…even though I’m the one that said before Halloween “watch out kids, here it comes.”. I mean, are you ready for it? Didn’t think so…although I am truly excited to be taking part in the “Orphans Thanksgiving” here in DC with several good friends. It’s a sort of pot-luck-dinner-meets-happy-hour homage to the holiday and the families that make them what they are;
I can tell you that I am less than impressed with the overall level of Heroes, but that Dexter rocks my socks.
Or that I’ve watched less football than you’d believe and follow off season MLB news more closely than the Redskins. (Even though I’d love for them to make the playoffs…)
I might be inclined to share that I’ve all but finished this and can’t recommend it highly enough…I was actually thinking about an entire blog post about it, but it lost steam. Anyhow, read it. It’s family, the Holocaust, self discovery, love and understanding and the search for both…
Yeah. Read it.
So that’s the deal, just a lull in the action. In some ways I’m thanking my lucky stars for a break. I tend to attract all kinds of insanity…it’s nice to have a brief reprieve.
I read today that the Italian Police raided the home of a Mafia “boss” and found, among his personal effects, his rules/commandments for being in the Casa Nostra. Among these rules were things like;
Honor your wife and don’t look at the wives of others.
Don’t hang out in bars.
Don’t befriend policemen.
Don’t be late for appointments.
I found myself somewhere between laughing out loud and throwing up in my mouth a little. Are you kidding me? How about don’t use violence as a way to solve your problems or better yet guns are for pussies who won’t take the ass beating they deserve like a real man would? Perhaps a dash of don’t make widows and orphans out of women and children? Maybe a dash of extortion is for cowards who won’t get a real job?
While I was thinking about this, I realized what was bothering me the most was that I’d respect these men a whiole lot more if they didn’t try to pretend they had honor. Really. If your’e a thug, you’re a thug. Don’t go tryin’ to church yourself up with words like honor and respect. Wow, you wouldn’t fuck someone else’s wife? You need a rule for that? That’s not honor, that’s the way it’s supposed to be you fucking jack asses!
It always seems to be that the people who live the furthest from traits like honor, respect, accountability, and decency are the ones who have to scream the loudest about them and make the most noise about “defending them”. Not unlike Republicans who run on the “family values” ticket then get arrested in bathrooms or divorce over and over again. Parents who always seem to have an opinion onthe right way to raise your kids are probably terrible parents themselves. The woman that bitches the most to her friends about how she’d never sleep with a guy on the first date is the one to do it in the back of a cab with someone she just met.
You know it, I know it. People who do things the right way don’t need to make a big show of it. They just do it. It’s the other ones you have to worry about. As soon as someone gets on their high horse and starts telling you what you should do and how you should act…as soon as they get up on that soap box and start talking about regulating morality, you can all but bet on the fact that they can’t regulate themselves by the standards they set forth.
Honestly, I don’t really know who I think less of; the ones who have to shout about it or the mob (by either definition) that comes together behind them to agree.
And in an interesting but completely unrelated sidenote;
My mo is coming in rather rapidly. Right now I look like someone that would pull you over and give you a ticket.
I went and saw another Dr. for a follow up to my “are you fucking kidding me” appointment last week. Being as it is that I hate doctors, this trip to yet another “specialist” was more than I was mentally ready to deal with on a sunny weekday morning. After my inital Dr’s trip I was told that based on my symptoms I was looking at three options…
The first; it’s nothing. Some low level infection. Could even be a bi-product of the meds you’re taking for your stomach, actually.
The second; VD. What the fuck are you talking about? There are none of the symptoms of any VD I’ve ever heard of!! Is this like some jungles of South America VD!? God damnit this ain’t my day.
The Third; Cancer. That being the “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!?!” part of our program.
Of course, the deal you make with yourself when you get told this is that right off the bat, it’s not “nothing”. It can’t and won’t be “nothing”. This falls somewhere in between Hypochondria and Pessimism; wherein you tell yourself you can’t be lucky enough to have nothing wrong with you, so you’ve got to be sick.
Because of this I found myself in the very odd position of actually saying; “Please God let it be VD.” How many times in the history of man do you think someone has actually said those words? But there I was walking down K St towards my Dr’s office repeating over and over in my head;
Oh lord, please look down on me, your mostly well behaved though occasionally hedonistic son and deliver unto me a verdict of VD because Oh merciful God I simply do not think that I can fucking deal with Cancer. I ask this in the name of Penicillan, Cipro and Valvtrex, Amen.
So it was with great trepidation that I walked in to my new Dr’s office for the first time and relayed to him what my symptoms are and what, I was told, I was looking at for a diagnosis. His response, right off the bat, was less than comforting;
“Well, that’s accurate”.
Great. Fucking great.
“But let’s not rush to any conclusions before we get some tests done”.
For the better part of 45 minutes I was poked and prodded and drained of fluids to determine what was wrong with me…during which time I’m of course making my plans. My “plans” were made with my inside voice in the form of one liners. For example;
“First thing I do if it’s cancer is go get drunk.”
“If I’ve got VD of any kind, I’m totally hooking up with Alyssa and giving it to her”.
“Who the hell could I have caught VD from?! MUST find her and set her on fire.”
“Mental note to self; never smoke again regardless of the outcome.”
This went on and on, and I’m sure you get the idea. After the 45 minutes or so my Doc came in and said, “I’m going to have your tests run today, and I’ll be calling you to let you know how they came out. But I can tell you this right now…”
Oh heavenly God here it comes…
“Based on your exam, there’s no way this is cancer. So cross that off your list.”
PRAISE JESUS HALLELUJAH I’VE GOT VD!
“We’ll call you in a bit with the results of what we find from your tests…but really, I think you have a low level infection that, when combined with your pre-existing stomach conditions and meds gave you your symptoms.”
Which, I learned later in the day, was exactly what had happened. No VD. No cancer. Just a painful set of symptoms that came from a 1:1000 set of circumstances. When I got the call I was at work and was bracing myself for whatever was to come next. I was prepared for anything, except to hear “you’re fine, INPY.”
And to think I actually rooted for VD.
This weekend I decided that I was going to have a good chill session and ditch the freak out/stress out if even just for a few days. I decided that Friday night I would take myself out for some dinner and a drink and then head home to watch some TV. Nothing high energy/effort. I started by calling Kid Brother and wishing him well in the Pats-Colts game and, begrudgingly, offering him my congrats on his beloved Sox winning the Series. I started this call at just about 6 at McPhearson Square (where I had an end of the week meeting) and ended it in front of the Chipotle on M St.
“A burrito and my book for an hour or so”, I thought. I’ll chill out and watch all of these people start their happy hours and end of the week celebrations while I eat a burrito bowl and read The Lost by Daniel Mendelsohn. (It’s unreal, trust me)
This plan looked like a real winner, too. At least, it was for about 4 pages worth of reading time.
After about 4 pages, two guys who I have affectionately dubbed Biff and Mikey sat down right next to me. And, I do mean right next to me. Technically we were at two different tables, but getting Biff and Mikey to realize this was asking a lot. Honestly, asking Biff and Mikey to do any number of things was probably asking a lot. Things like, oh, keeping your belongings with you, not shoving them down the booth to where they are pushed up against me. Or keeping your truly vulgar conversation about all of the things you are going to do ‘that bitch Rebecca from marketing’ to a dull roar.
Being as I was in a foul enough mood as it was, I was resigned to keeping my mouth shut. Getting in to any sort of back and forth with this lot was a one way ticket to trouble town, and I was in no mood for that ride.
I suffered through their conversation which, in and of itself, was truly a feat. It was like being stuck in an elevator with two terrible comedians. Two juvenile, terrible comedians. And all the while as this back and forth lame fest is going on I am trying, ever so slightly, to slide Biff’s (or was it Mikey’s?) bag and jacket back towards him and away from me. Of course, I was also trying not to laugh at (not with) these two pathetic fuckers.
A bit of scene setting?
Biff and Mikey are the two guys who had a solid 2.0 GPA in college. They weren’t the smartest or the best looking guys at wherever they went to school. They didn’t have a cool dorm room or apartment and they rarely if ever did something really hip. They were average to the point of absurdity. They wore what they were supposed to wear. Drank what they were supposed to drink. Laughed at who they were supposed to laugh at and sadly, got laughed at quite a bit, too.
Now, though, Biff and Mikey are in the working world and have realized that they can, with an audience of just each other, be cool. They’ve been in this world for maybe, maybe five years now. They are solidly past their mid 20’s but rather than, you know, mature they’ve chosen to regress.
Biff and Mikey are now going to relive their college days the way that they should have done it back then. It’s just a few years later, right? And we, the lucky fuckers of the M St Chipotle get to witness this absurdity up close and personal. Oh happy, happy day.
Now, there are lots of people in this city that piss me off. The Metro alone is good for 4 or 5 types of self centered, self absorbed ass hats for me to deal with before I even get to work. Every line that I wait in, street that I cross, or store that I shop in has someone in it that believes that they are more important or better or more deserving and they by fucking god are going to make sure it’s known…
And for the most part? Eh, whatever. So long as you don’t come too close to me, I could care less.
But these two fucking ass clowns? I couldn’t take it. It was the language and the coarseness of their conversation topics being practically shouted in a Chipotle before 7 pm. That blatant disregard for anyone around them was making my teeth hurt, I swear. And yes, OK, the matching haircuts didn’t really help either. Nor did the way Mikey (or was it Biff?) seemed to giggle like a little god damn girl and say “right right, man!!!” every time Biff (or was it Mikey?) said something dumb.
But most importantly, it was that I was totally aware of the fact that they needed everyone to see how “cool” they were. They were just desperate for it, and every disapproving look from someone else just trying to eat their burritos in peace was like a standing ovation from an adoring crowd.
That was the part that really pissed me off. And I could feel my resolve to just stay out of it slipping away by the second.
I want to tell you that I did just that; stayed out of it completely. That I just left. That I didn’t give in to my exponentially increasing desire to turn and say “are you fucking morons for real? SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP. and get this fucking cheap ass bag and your fucking sports coat away from me before I light them on FUCKING FIRE!!!”
I really, really want to tell you that I didn’t do anything, but that’s not entirely true. What I did do was pack up my book and the trash from my unfinished meal and stand up, turning to leave…
…and promptly spilled my large Sprite on Biff’s…or was it Mikey’s?…jacket and bag which were a good three feet away from him but for the 10th fucking time in 20 minutes or so was yet again, right next to me.
“what the fuck, man?! You just fucking SOAKED my shit!”
Right, right, man. Sorry about that.
Was that cool of me? No, it was not. I know that on any other Friday night I might have completely ignored Biff and Mikey and maybe not even noticed them, honestly. But you know what? Sometimes that asshole…the one that everyone knows is an asshole? Sometimes that guy just needs to be made to feel like an asshole. Call it a moral imperative and a stress reliever all wrapped up in one.
So, be careful assholes, because you never know when you’re going to be putting on one of your little shows for someone who has had a rotten, stressful week and who really doesn’t care if he “soaks your shit” (metaphorically speaking) or worse.
I walked out of that Chipotle and shared a slight smirk with several people as I headed for the door. I almost feel bad now that I’m a few days removed from it. Can I see that it was juvenile? Sure. But you know what? I love knowing that for the rest of the night Biff or Mikey or which ever one it was had been completely thrown off his game because “I soaked his shit” and GOD KNOWS you can’t go out and put forth 100% of your (lameabsurdfuckingridiculous) game with a Sprite soaked jacket and bag.
And really, I gotta tell ya; I loved it. Because even though I don’t like to be passive aggressive…sometimes, it really does feel pretty fucking good. Oh, and if your name is Rebecca and you work in Marketing? Do NOT go drinking with the two guys you think this might be about.
Right right, man?
Right fucking right.
If there’s something I’m not a fan of, it’s doctors. In fact, I outright hate them and I have good reason. From knee problems to my childhood asthma, it’s never been exactly “oooh I get a lollipop” time when I have to go see a doc. Of course, then this happened and suddenly I’ve been having to go every few weeks for checkups and follow ups and blah blah blah…
…and all was going smoothly until some new symptoms popped up and I’m right back in to the mix of things which totally friggin’ sucks. What I hate the most is, really, the guesswork. Break something and it’s cut and dried. Get whacked with something internal, though, and God help you. I swear, if your mechanic approached your car like your doctor approached your body you’d call the BBB. Seriously.
The first mistake my Doc made this time was to say “Well, INPY, it could be something as simple as “this”, or it could be (insert terrifying medical condition here)” Ummm, why the fuck would you say it like that? Have you gone mad? Been struck daft? How about just saying “let’s run some tests” or “I’m going to send you to another Dr.”…not, “let’s put you down, Trigger, cuz clearly, you’re fucked”.
And, how come this didn’t get caught the first friggin’ time ’round the funhouse?
Then he says “you could just have a cold, too, or a low level infection of some sort…I’m going to put you on the same dosage of antibiotics we give people exposed to Anthrax.”
Ummm…whatthefuckareyoutalkingabout?!?! It’s like you’re trying to freak me out, and I don’t get freaked out! But you Sir? You are freakin’ me out!
Then I think he got the message that I was gettin’ a little uneasy…maybe it was the fact that I was trying to open his office window and jump? Either way, he gave me the “relax…99% of the time this is absolutely nothing” line…which is odd to me, because it always seems to be either “50-50” or “99% of the time”. Not comforting, really. But he referred me to, you guessed it, another doctor who will tell me, hopefully, that I am firmly in the 99%, or at least the good 50%. Otherwise, it’s gonna get wierd, god damnit.