Out There
I popped in for a visit with my psychia . . . uh, my doctor, today. I haven’t seen him in well over a year and something, besides my expanding midsection, needed to be shrunk. I also needed a few chuckles, which discussion of my love-life, or lack thereof, always brings forth in much quantity. The office assistant lady told me she always knows when I am visiting because of the guffaws of laughter emanating from behind the closed door. As far as I’m concerned, if you cannot make your doctors laugh then you are just not irreverent enough. As I had not seen the good doctor in so long, we had a lot of catching-up to do. Surprisingly, we, well, *I* talked about my hooters at length [due to my having had multiple surgical complications which is a whole different story and not near as funny as you might think]. Now, I am used to my vet checking out myRack™ since I always forget to wear a bra, but never in the years I have been tricking my psychiatrist into prescribing Xanax and Valium for me to resell to my friends to take for my anxiety disorder have I EVER seen the man look in the remote vicinity of my chest. Today, I caught him sneak not one, but two glances at my tatas! Which made me giggle all the way to my car when I left.
Another of my many issues is claustrophobia. Which does not stem from that time as a young child when my sister — who used to like to carry me around pretending I was her ragdoll because I was so tiny, which led to her dropping me down the stairs — made up a new game which involved me lying across the parents bed and her flinging a blanket over me then rolling me down the length of the bed to thud onto the floor completely entangled in the blanket and unable to breathe. Then there was the time when she made a slide out of a discarded piece of wood and wedged it up against our apple tree. I was commanded to try it out first and for some reason unknown to me, I slid down it backwards on my knees. Which led to my introduction to a large nail that tore open my left knee. Oh, and did I mention the time we were playing badminton in the back garden and SHE hit the shuttlecock into the neighbour’s garden and insisted that *I* climb over the fence to retrieve it? This time it was a U-staple that tore open the middle fingerpad on my right hand. Sisterly fun — you can’t beat it! [I love you, my sweet Lynne!!!]
I related that last story as an awkward segue regarding my claustrophobia; which starts to twinge whenever I am in an elevator. Fortunately, the building in which my drug dealer psychiatrist offices has a glass-walled elevator nestled within its midst. Today I was experimenting to see whether peering down from the glass wall would induce any type of vertigo. Amazingly, it did not, however, I discovered that I could pretend I was inside a giant robot that was about to stomp and crush the people walking around in the foyer below. Small wonder somebody once commented that I was like an 11-year old boy in a woman’s body.
What? Have I filled my prescription yet? No, why do you ask?
January 31st, 2008 at 9:15 pm
So THAT’S how people get those fun little purple and blue pills! Mother’s little helper comes from the SHRINK! I didn’t know. I must get myself one of those! Your entries always spur me to yap up your comments section with my own “for instance”s…like this: I’M irreverent enough! I had a remote control fart machine that was horseshoe shaped and fit perfectly into the stirrup in my beloved gyno’s examination room. The stirrup was covered with a cozy little quilted socklette-thingie that fit over the stirrup for my ladies’ comfort (every little bit helps when you’re baring your unfolded clam for a stranger, I suppose) and it hid the fart machine expertly. I pressed the handheld control and broke off a big nasty one as he trolled himself into position on his little wheeled stool…and he stopped, cocked his head and very professionally swallowed a smile. When he resumed rolling toward me I broke off another greasy solo and he pointed at me and said, “Ahhhhh!!! I have one of those machines and I recognize that fart!” lol! That’s why I love him. He confided to me that I am the only patient to whom he can say, “Dr. Belsom, at your cervix!”
Thanks for the good read, friend.
Okay, there’s that…and I was going to include all the ways my big sister tried to kill me but my flowery delivery is gonna eat your entire comments section, so let me make it brief: she dumped cold water on me in the bath, scared the shit out of me at EVERY opportunity using EVERY method imaginable, and once promised me if I’d open my mouth she’d give me a “big surprise”. In my wee little child’s mind, I expected candy. I got a rabbit turd. It was most certainly a surprise. Despite it all, I love her still. She has suffered enormous guilt over her wicked ways, but still thinks the turd incident was high comedy.
February 1st, 2008 at 11:13 am
When I think back to my childhood with my brothers, I think I was in the role of your sister. Gah! I am so going to hell. heh
February 1st, 2008 at 12:35 pm
I need to see one of them shrinks to help me with my ADD, it’s so bad that I’ll be right in the middle of a sentence and…
So I would totally be your BFF…
If you were a little taller…
and a brunette…
and a little less hot.
Hot chicks scare me, I have hotchickaphobia*.
*All statements presented here are intended purely for comedic effect, any similarity to actual medical afflictions, infirmaties, limitations or illnesses are completely coincidental.(c)HRT/ELS 2008
February 1st, 2008 at 1:03 pm
Myra: My co-editor! I LOVE your stories! I am also appreciative that you post them here and deprive your own website. Honestly, I was just thinking for the 20th time about shutting down the comments due to subscriber apathy — I mean I have over 100 subscribers, I get hundreds of hits per month, but hardly anybody comments!!! [cough] . . . and then I get some great comments and I wuss-out again on closing the comments after all. Until the next post goes uncommented . . .
EA: I am strangely grateful that I never had a brother!
HRT: Again, I am delighted that MY website is benefiting from your snappy repartee rather than your own! Bwahahaha!!
February 1st, 2008 at 3:33 pm
I’m with EA, oh the horror stories I bet my little sister could tell…
February 4th, 2008 at 1:14 pm
Whenever I’m in an elevator with another person I think to myself, what would I do if I got stuck in this elevator with this person…I usually want to start banging on the doors and start screaming OPEN THESE DOORS!!! but I hang in there until I get out. I think I would pee myself then cry if I was stuck in an elevator with someone else. Somehow I feel like being stuck alone would be so much better. I like myself a whole lot more than I like other people…
February 5th, 2008 at 5:26 pm
I’m a guy. Therefore all of my trapped in an elevator thoughts descend into quasi-erotic, semi-intellectual fantasies reminiscent of low-budget midget porn.