Sorry for not having a peep of blogging today. I was busy letting the Medicos invade my personal space.
OK, I'll just blurt it out: colonoscopy! There, I said it. I won't say it again, and you may feel free to change it in your head to "routine check of massive biceps" from here on out. And I won't be describing it, but it's not horrible, and when the men in the long white coats suggest you get one, well you should.
So I'm fine. I actually remember very little of the actual procedure. Strong drugs were involved and I seemed to go from lying on my side, watching my heart monitor, straight into a conversation with Cortez. Yes, Cortez of "I claim this stinkin' desert" fame, but we weren't discussing native peoples, or exploration, or sailing ships. We were discussing parking. Apparently my car wasn't small enough for the space according to the Conquistador.
We walked around the car, me pointing out that I couldn't be any more centered in the space; he "just observing" that the lady in the Miata might have to climb in her passenger door.
"But she's the one who parked too close to the line."
"But the sign says Compact Cars Only."
"So what's a "compact" car?"
"Well not that thing."
"Well I didn't have time to go car shopping and still make my appointment."
And with that, I was in the recovery room. With a hop, skip, and a jump through time, I was on the couch, and there I lay all day. Mostly I've been asleep, halfheartedly trying to summon back the Marquis of Oaxaca so I could finish the dream and justify my parking.
So, I probably should eat something now, happy that I don't have to write anything about that horror in Norway, or the sad story of Amy Winehouse. You don't need input from me on those things anyway. There's nothing really to say.
What you need is a dog video. No, really, I mean it.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Posted by lumberjack at 8:23 PM