It was a dark and stormy night…well…OK, it was a not so dark but stormy afternoon when I sat down to write this missive which kept getting interrupted by life in general over the past several days.
I put on my vintage “Joe Cool” t-shirt I had retrieved from the storage shed last weekend (more on that later) and settled in to channel my inner Snoopy to make sense of everything that has happened since I last posted on here.
Much has happened lately yet very little of it is at all noteworthy so we’ll try and skip as much of it as possible and stick to the highlights…such as they were. You see, life has become, somewhat, tediously predictable these days for me and I have a reputation to uphold so this poses an unthinkable dilemma I may not be prepared to face.
As resident curmudgeon it is my job, nay! It is my privilege to be the pain in the ass conscious to the world at large and call us all on our shit. It’s difficult to do when I’ve been reduced to napping most of the day lately and making stuff up isn’t nearly as fun and interesting as the stupid shit we actually do and say these days. The lives we hold so seriously dear are so much more comedically retarded than I could ever invent regardless of how many drugs they put me on. Yet my duty is clear and I must report what I have discovered along with, my not so faithful, friend Yoda at my side.
So this is the cross I must bear as I have navigated the waters from my last port and message to here and what lies ahead.
The past few weeks we’ve been in “Transition Mode” moving from one place to the new one. It will be a nice place once everything is settled. We decided it was best to move in phases to prevent stepping around mountains of boxes. I have been dispatched to a corner of the couch where I am allowed to do little more than look forlorn, drool relentlessly until someone gives me a sympathetic pat on my head and look at porn on my laptop (stop laughing…you know you do too). At the speed were going at we’ll be done unpacking by my birthday next year or just in time to move again…whichever comes first.
I was finally allowed to go to the storage shed the other day and see if we couldn’t find more of my clothes and some much needed art supplies. I’ve been relegated to a very minimal wardrobe the past few months and for someone like me…that just doesn’t work. The experience nearly killed me and I paid for it by sleeping almost the entire next day but I don’t look like a transient anymore…sorta.
The rest of my time seems to be divided between doctor’s visits and going to Wal-Mart to get my prescriptions filled…a journey I sincerely dread. I fear Wal-Mart more than I fear clowns because Wal-Mart customers are scarier. They’ve been tinkering with my meds lately that has caused me to consider Professional Napper as an occupation when filling out all of the damned forms I’ve been relegated to completing lately in an effort to get my disability issues wrapped up. By the time I get done doing so not only will I get a check (making me a government employee) but I’ll be eligible for retirement, probably have a security clearance and a key to push “THE” button…who knew! They always at some point ask you the same stupid questions about whether I’ve felt like killing myself lately. I can honestly say no but all of these forms and the new meds are certainly causing me to consider world domination…
I went back to see my little dermatologist the other day. Yoda was restricted from going. It seems Yoda’s light saber was little more than a glow stick and was the result of a short and embarrassing first (and last) date.
I hadn’t noticed on my last trip there but the whole staff in the office is about as diminutive as the doctor is. I felt like I had just stepped into OZ and the Munchkin’s were going to break out a rendition of “The Lollipop Guild” as they led me down the hall for my cancer surgery…and I hadn’t had any drugs yet! Once seated in this very cool chair (I’ve gotta get me one of those) the nurse injected my face with God knows what but the left side of my face went numb down to my arm pit…it was great.
Then my pixie-like Dermatologist entered in with a glowing light surrounding her as she flitted around the room leaving fairy dust everywhere (I’m pretty sure that’s not sterile) before covering my face with a towel and whacking half my face off with a machete built for a two year old then slapped a temporary bandage on my face and sent me back out to the lobby to scare the hell out of the other patients.
Once satisfied they had gotten it all they brought me back in, injected my face with fun stuff again and began stitching me up. It was quite an interesting experience. My face was getting pulled in every imaginable direction to the point that I’m pretty sure my ear was somewhere near my nose for a moment or two. I couldn’t imagine how such a tiny person like her could do such feats so I cautiously opened one eye. I was horrified to see her next to my chair with a deep sea rod & reel in her hands pulling like she was trying to land a marlin in an effort to close my sutures more tightly. I quickly closed my eyes and started thinking of clowns to feel better.
When everything was done and I was all patched up she set up and appointment to take the stitches out (this should be interesting) and to do a full body scan of me because “where there is one cancer there are probably more” as she put it with an evil smile on her face as she buzzed out the door and out of sight.
A couple of days later while, once again, feeling bruised, battered and beaten up by a pigmy I went to my eldest daughter’s tenth birthday party. One of her “aunts” gave her three water guns about two feet long and an inch and a quarter in diameter made out of transparent colored plastic. Inside is a plunger attached to a handle the shape of a billyclub with the idea being you put the squirt gun in the pool draw the water in and push it out through the end shaped like a plastic crayon point. Sounds fun enough.
Being the loving, protective and always vigilant grandfather I am I took one look at them and asked…”where’s the lube?” as my mind raced back to my dermatologists evil look and the prospect of a full body scan…If I see that damned water gun anywhere in the building I’m going to re-consider taking up jogging…with or without my pants on.
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