Yesterday I saw my doctor for my every-six-months checkup. I had my blood drawn the week before, so she went over the test results with me. All the numbers are where they’re supposed to be, my blood pressure was 110/70, I am healthy as a horse. All I needed was another prescription for my thyroid meds, and I was good to go.
If you’re in the Madison area and need a good Primary Care doctor, let me know. I absolutely adore my doctor, I love everyone who works there, I very highly recommend them. Love ’em!
Of course, isn’t it right after you get the “You’re healthy as can be!” diagnosis from your doctor that you have an aneurysm or heart attack or die of some mysterious disease? I’m sure the instant she said that, that a clock started counting down to my demise.
I give it two weeks.
I stopped on the way home to pick up baby food (for the kittens and Spanky). I tend to always buy every jar of Gerber Chicken baby food that they have on the shelf because it’s the sort of thing that I always need to have on hand, and usually they don’t keep that item particularly well stocked. This time around, they must have stocked pretty recently, because there were 30 jars on the shelf.
That’s right, I bought them all.
Then I walked down to the pharmacy section and picked up a box of ear plugs for Fred. We both wear ear plugs at night, but can’t wear the same kind (the ones he likes are too long for my ear canal, and that sounds kind of dirty, doesn’t it?). So I tossed the ear plugs in the cart and headed over to check out.
I’d just gotten all the jars of baby food onto the conveyer belt and was putting the box of ear plugs next to them when an elderly lady came up behind me. I was standing there looking at the covers of the tabloids (it’s how I keep abreast of the important news!) when I thought to look over at her to see why she was standing there, unmoving, instead of unloading her groceries.
She was staring at the baby food and the ear plugs. She gave me a Look, then glanced back at the baby food and ear plugs, and gave me another Look.
I can’t imagine what she thought I was going to do, but she clearly didn’t approve. I only wish I’d been buying a case of beer while I was at it. THAT probably would have blown her mind.
(I wish I’d thought to look in a judgmental manner at HER groceries. I could have been all “Mmhmm. I see. You’re buying bread. You’re THAT kind of person, are you? Please stay back.”)
Then I had to endure a long, involved conversation with the bagger, who wanted to know how old my baby was. Then she was surprised that I would give the baby food to kittens because she thought it was for babies. I told her that it was made for human babies but that kittens like it, and she was all kinds of amazed by that.
Why do I have to earnestly answer these questions that strangers ask me? WHY couldn’t I have just said “Two babies. And yes, they adore chicken baby food.” Then probably she would have been all “Are they twins?” and I would have had to stop and consider the likelihood of my wandering out to the grocery store on a whim, because WHO was watching the twins? I bet she would have wanted to know who was babysitting, and then she would have gotten all pushy about how she’s a great baby sitter, and she would have been all “You should go out Friday night and I can babysit!”
Oh, but wait, she couldn’t have babysat the twins – Claude and Chauncey. They’re redheads and big for their age.- Friday night because her Mom is taking her to the beach to go swimming this weekend. (I wish I was kidding about knowing her plans for the weekend, she told me ALL about her beach plans, and excuse me HOW long does it TAKE to ring up 30 goddamn jars of baby food, DAVID THE CASHIER, for fuck’s sake? This is why I try not to leave the house. The chattiness and the mumbling. And why is it that the chattiest people are the worst mumblers? What the FUCK? I just smile and nod and hope I haven’t inadvertently agreed to wear a puffy shirt on the Today Show. For fuck’s sake, people, SPEAK THE FUCK UP.)
The chattiness I could have done without, but when all my groceries were bagged and I was ready to go, she didn’t even act like she was dying to take my groceries out to the car. That’s how I prefer my baggers, personally – the ones who are all “No, really! I’ve got it! Let’s go!” and then zoom off with my fucking cart drive me nuts. It’s bad enough I’ve gotta chitchat with the people inside the store, I need to chitchat all the way out to my car? NO THANK YOU.
Usually if they try to insist, I smile a smile that doesn’t even try to resemble a real smile, and I say “I’m stronger than I look!” and off I go.
Speaking of being stronger than I look, last time I was at Sam’s, I bought a couple of 40-pound bags of Fresh Step.
(Actually, they might have been 42-pound bags. They did away with the awesomely convenient and handy 40-pound buckets in favor of earth-saving plastic bags, and make it up to the consumer by making them two pounds heavier.)
I’d put the first one in the cart, and was reaching for the second one, when a little old lady who worked there came toddling over.
“Oh my goodness!” she said, all full of concern. “You shouldn’t be lifting that! Let me do it!”
She was like four feet tall and frail. I could have broken her in half if I’d laughed too hard in her direction. In retrospect, I wish I’d let her do it, because I’m curious as to whether she would have been able to. Instead I just smiled, said “I’m stronger than I look!” and grabbed the second bag.
Hmm. Maybe SHE is ALSO stronger than she looks! I hadn’t considered that ’til now.
Some time ago, I got really into listening to Bob & Sheri on the radio in the morning. It’s a syndicated show, and Fred started listening to it on the way to work. He talked about it so often that I started listening to it in the mornings when I was taking a shower. Eventually, I started downloading the podcasts and listening to it when I was doing chores and working in the garden, because I always felt like I was missing something – they’d do a “Blah blah blah something interesting something you wanna hear – coming up in 30 minutes!” teaser, but HELLO. I’ve got shit to DO, I can’t be cooling my heels waiting to hear what you’ve got to tell me, even though it DOES sound really interesting. (The bonus is that when listening to the podcasts, you don’t have to listen to that pesky “music”, just the talk-show part of the show.)
I continued to listen to them when I was showering and getting ready in the morning, because I really like the show.
The radio station stopped carrying Bob and Sheri. THE FRICKIN’ NERVE of them. They’ve replaced them with a (I’m sure much less expensive) local team that I absolutely cannot stand. The woman of the team has been on this station for years, and Fred loathes her. She laughs and laughs and laughs at every innocuous, unfunny thing her morning show partner says – this is not her first “morning team” situation, she’s been part of other morning teams, as well as on her own – and I really can’t stand it.
(Fred’s sure she’s either related to or sleeping with someone who has final say about the deejays at that station.)
So now my morning showers are without joy. I can still listen to Bob and Sheri via the podcasts, but I don’t listen to the iPod in the shower (I could get speakers for the iPod, but eh. I don’t wanna.) and I don’t much care for any of the other morning teams on the local stations. I can stand whozits on WZYP (Mojo, I think?), but I prefer to listen to nothing at all.
Fucking program managers – or whoever the hell is responsible for that kind of decision-making. I used to listen to Ace and TJ several years ago, but they all of a damn sudden stopped carrying them, too.
PS: I know I’ve been sucking at responding to comments. I’m going to have a big comment-answering post on Friday. Possibly Monday. One or the other!
2011: “Sweet pickled Jesus is it hot out there!”
2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: We’re fun like that.
2007: Did the Zodiac Killer curse them with doughy bodies, was that the unspoken conspiracy?
2006: No entry.
2005: Debbie: “Oh, right. I used to boil Brian’s nipples when he was a baby.”
2003: No entry.
2002: Y’know, I have way too much fun making fun of that man.
2001: Excuse me, he’s known about this closing for well over a month and still can’t manage to be on time? How self-important can you be?
2000: Fucking every time I drive through Pennsylvania it fucking pours down rain.