Dr. The Great Carnac

I have been very busy dying of the bubonic plague, or maybe the consumption, or some other awful, sweaty, choke-y death that's been extinct for at least a century.

That's why I started going to the doctor who never diagnoses me with anything, just prescribes a bunch of stuff and waits to see what will work. Okay, since he doesn't do any testing I might have to go back 3 times, and maybe he is making himself and the pharmaceutical company rich when he could probably save me about $100 by running a couple of simple tests. But at least this way I don't have to tell anyone I have whooping cough, and then have them say, "You can still get that? I didn't think people could get whooping cough anymore," like happened that one time I had whooping cough about three years ago.

This isn't whooping cough, but its not fun either. Except for the drugs. I've been watching Law and Order in a cough syrup daze for days. Law and Order is the perfect sick day show, because you doze and the episodes all run together, and it doesn't even really matter. Anyway, this is some kind of "kiddie illness," as my doctor tells me (through his amazing diagnostic process of...charging me $30 to test his psychic intuition) because of course it is. It makes perfect sense that since I don't have kids and I'm never around kids I should come up with an infection most likely to be passed around on the playgroud.

I'm back at work today, and this post should tell you what a bad idea that is. I have no idea what I just said.

Miracle Shoe Update: Is it a miracle if they turn me into a freak?

I debated taking a picture of my butt BEFORE I began wearing the bionic shoes, and then I was going to take update pictures every week. That way we all could have judged the true powers of the shoes together. This would have been helpful because 1) its very hard to look at your own butt...I'll wait if you want to try it...2) I could have gotten truthful opinions because everyone knows the internet loves to tell you the truth and 3) this site would probably get a lot more hits if I plastered it with pictures of my ass.

On the other hand, the internet REALLY LOVES to tell you the truth, and I'm not sure my ego is up to it and this site would be covered with pictures of my ass. You really can't ever take that back. So I didn't do it.

However, in case you're curious: I can't tell that my behind is any different after about a week of wearing these. My thighs look a little smaller, but that might just be because from the knee down my legs now look like I'm on steroids. My calves are getting totally juiced, and they aren't sharing with any of the other muscles. Its freaking me out a little. Pretty soon my jeans won't fit from the knee down, even the boot cut ones. And I'll have to be on Maury Pauvich (sp?) as one of the poor, poor freaks that makes him a million bucks. And he'll probably give me some prize that's supposed to be awesome, but really is kind of lame and I'll be all exploited and shit. Plus, I'll never be able to wear pants again, and I'll have to wear skirts all the time and that will totally show off my freak calves.

Or maybe its just water retention.

I'll let you know.

ETA: The left calf is bigger than the right one. I'm pretty sure that's new...on the other hand, its winter. I haven't actually seen my legs in months.

Black Magic

A Target in the dead center of a landlocked state manages to have a flock of seagulls in the parking lot, but they cannot manage to have a pair of navy tights. Or clothing in a size larger than 0 and smaller than 24.

And I still managed to leave with $50.00 worth of stuff I never knew I wanted. Its like magic. Black magic.

Probably I Shouldn't Be Allowed to Procreate

We watched The Stand last night. Or at least, 7 hours of The Stand. Anyway, there's a character who appears to be magic and evil. And I'm trying to work out if he's magic and evil because of some weird mutation from the flu or whatever. And the following conversation took place.

He: Did you not see that part about an hour ago where he said "Here's a hint: 'Pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name.'"?

Me: Yeah, and I know its from a song, but I don't really get what that's supposed to tell me. Is it the Rolling Stones?

He: Yes...(here, imagine that face the teacher used to make when s/he was trying to get you to come up with a correct answer yourself. Eyebrows lifted, eyes wide, the slow head nod).

Me: Shit. Its Sympathy for the Devil, isn't it? But how should I know that means he's the devil or whatever?

*SCRRRRREEEEEECHHHHH*

He: Are...are you being serious?

Me: What? I can never understand the Stones. They don't speak English, like, ever. They speak burned out druggie.

He: I want a divorce.

Me: What?

He: Go listen to it. Go listen to it right now.

Yeah. I know every word to Sympathy for the Devil. All of them. And I still never knew that it was actually about the devil.

I'm going to let that speak for itself.

I'm Sorry, I Think I Set Your Eyebrows on Fire

Scene 1: Approximately 6 p.m., Wednesday February 24. I am pacing about, twitching, and trying to keep busy. He is relaxing with a glass of pinot noir, on the internet.

He: Do you want any of this wine?

Me, opening fridge, rummaging around: No. What do you think for dinner?

A beat goes by.

He: Megan. Do. You. Want. Any. Of. This. Wine.

I slam the refrigerator door, and turn around. I do not look like me anymore. More like a fire breathing Lou Farigno in full on Hulk.

Me: NO, ASSHOLE, I DO NOT WANT ANY MOTHERFUCKING WINE.

He: Are we a little frazzled today?

Me (less green, less fire): Yes. Are you hungry?

He: No. But if you are let's go ahead and eat. Whatever you want, dear.

Me: I'm not hungry, I just need to keep busy and I need something to put in my mouth.

He (lecherous eyebrows): I could help you out with that...

Me: Do you really want any part of your person anywhere near my teeth right now?

He: I rescind my offer.

*****

Scene 2: 5:30 p.m., Thursday February 25. In the car on the way home, I am trapped by the train.

Me: Hey. Wait. I've got a new complaint. Forever something blah blah blah. Hey. Wait...Seriously? What is up with this train? Mumble, Nirvana, mumble. Seriously. This train is like a thousand miles long. They should put some kind of LIMIT on how LONG the fucking train can be. Especially if they are going to send it through the middle of fucking town at fucking rush hour. Seriously. I have been sitting here FOR-FUCKING-EVER.

I continued in that vain through Jeremy, Use Somebody, and Sabotage before I realized I was screaming obscenities at the train and people were looking at me.

Scene 3: 8:30 p.m., Thursday February 25. I am re-reading Alan Carr's Quit Smoking the Easy Way. Some of this book is quite helpful. It is helpful to think of being glad to stop smoking as opposed to constantly whining about wanting a cigarette. The idea of a positive attitude and the mantra that I do not need to smoke, and reminders about the fact that nicotine does not cure my withdrawal, but rather makes me want more nicotine, these things are helpful.

The idea that I should not use any sort of substitute, like gum or hard candy, is...stupid. So stupid that I threw the book across the room and yelled, "Screw you! I'm very super happy for you that you went from 100 to 0 cigarettes a day with NO PROBLEM. That does not make me feel awful or weak AT ALL. And I am eating this beef jerky instead of smoking a cigarette, and I think that should be OKAY. SO PUT THAT IN YOUR PIPE AND SMOKE IT YOU SMUG ARROGANT CREEP!"

*****

Its weird how the dogs won't come to me and he is avoiding eye contact and not making any sudden moves. I cannot imagine what everyone's problem is.

The Humans are Dead

I bought these shoes. Yes, the exact shoes in that picture above. If you think they look flashy in the picture, imagine them more. More silver. More shiny. Very, very much more. In fact, they sort of make me look like some sort of human/cylon hybrid. I've had the phrase 'robot feet' stuck in my head all day, and I might have spoken in a robot voice for part of the day. Which might have been embarrassing if that might have happened in front of one of my bosses. When I tried them on last night, my husband said they made me look "special" and I'm pretty sure he didn't mean "special" like a million dollars special. More like "special needs, special services" special.

BUT.

These shoes promised to totally improve my ass, legs, posture, joint health, and abs and they might have even promised to do the dishes and walk the dogs. And since I bought them directly from the sweat shop in Korea, they only cost like $20.00.

So the deal is, you just wear them. To the store, to the gym, just going about your life, and they work miracles. I figure $20.00 doesn't make me too much of marketing martyr if they don't really deliver.

But seriously, these are some freaking ugly shoes.

A Very Important Award

Maria at No One Reads the Copy gave me a very important award. I was supposed to answer these questions with one word. But whatever, I do what I want.

Plus, I quit smoking. If you ask me to follow the rules I'll probably scream at you and then cry a little and then curl up in the fetal position and sing to myself. I'd just let me do what I want. I'm pretty sure yesterday I screamed at my husband for his incessant blinking and breathing, and dear god, MUST you exist over there?!? Ahem.

1. Where is your cell phone? In my purse. Or maybe in my car. Or...somewhere.
2. Your hair? On my head. Curly. Evil.
3. Your mother? Crazy.
4. Your father? Meh.
5. Your favorite food? Donuts. I'm sure I'm supposed to say something that indicates my general sophistication and good taste. But. Donuts.
6. Your dream last night? Technicolor
7. Your favorite drink? Diet Dr. Pepper
8. Your dream/goal? Be self-employed. Run my own environmental consulting business.
9. What room are you in? Cubicle.
10. Your hobby? Reading. Yoga. Running.
11. Your fear? Homelessness.
12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Mommy.
13. Where were you last night? Home.
14. Something you aren't? Fancy.
15. Muffins? Sure.
16. Wish list item? Vintage Olympus OM-1 camera.
17. Where did you grow up? Arkansas.
18. Last thing you did? Work.
19. What are you wearing? Jeans, t-shirt, jacket.
20. Your TV? Bigger than any human being needs.
21. Your pets? Wild animals. In fact, I think I need some new ones, since I have ruined these.
22. Your friends? Wild animals.
23. Your life? Rollercoaster-y.
24. Your mood? Cranky.
25. Missing someone? Probably.
26. Vehicle?Volvo
27. Something you're not wearing? Coat.
28. Your favorite store? Goodwill
29. Your favorite color? Green
30. When was the last time you laughed? Before I quit smoking, probably.
31. Last time you cried?Yesterday. During Celebrity Rehab, of all things.
32. Your best friend? 60 miles away.
33. One place that I go over and over? The Used Book Store
34. One person who emails me regularly? No one.
35. Favorite place to eat? Hanna Roo's (sushi)

Also, I think another of the rules was to tag people. Which, we already discussed asking me to follow the rules right now didn't we? DIDN'T WE?

I thought so.