Compulsively thinking...about my butt!

(The back half of the paper upon which I wrote this blog...as you can tell, I used pretty much every useable spot.)

I am the last of a dying breed. I do something which no one seems to do much of anymore: I talk.

I am good at it - the only other thing I am great at is worrying - and if I could get paid for doing it all those times I've done it, it would make Oprah, Bill Gates, and Zuckerberg look like paupers in comparison.

But back to my talking. I do it instinctively...I do it obsessively...dare I say, I do it compulsively? Well, I did and I do (and thereby fulfilling today's idiotic prompt).

Take today for instance...I'm back at the gastroenterologist for my "butt appointment". I fear the worst - I hope for the best...what I'll get only time will tell. I'm sitting here in the examination room with that embossed tissue paper wrap "garment" they give you to wear (it's a large square - one size fits all...heaven knows it goes around me twice and that means most people in Alabama won't be able to make both ends meet). Underneath it, I am naked from my shirt down.

I have another thing I do which I rank up there with a whole lot of other obsessive compulsive stuff I do...I always pull that "barrier wrap" paper down a little - the one they put over the examination table - I have no real idea why...it makes me feel safer.

You must realize that someone else's naked butt was just on that table and the only thing separating me from the previous patient's "cooties" is this paper, thinner than air mail paper if I remember correctly. In other words, very thin...if you look hard enough you can see the germs permeating it I bet...but I refuse to look. Sometimes I even fold it back over on itself - a double layer of germ protection...this I usually do at the gynecologist. Again, why? Anyone's guess.

I'm also not looking forward to having my butt examined. Not that I have issues with doctors looking "down there" - I just don't want to hear I need surgery.

I can hear him with the patient in the next room over (muffled - but it's his distinct voice - he has an accent and this is what his voice sounds when it's muffled...and it's also what it sounds like thru the exceedingly annoying tinnitus I have in my head...but it's him for sure).

Today, since I haven't told you yet -- is "hemorrhoid banding day". Friday mornings, every other week is reserved for that purpose only.

Only last Saturday nite, I had a "butt explosion". I apparently made the mistake of not eating enough dietary fiber and ended up "straining". Needless to say, that resulted in my bottom looking like any female chimpanzee in estrus you've ever had the shocking pleasure of seeing on those wildlife documentaries. Fearing "death by rectum" or some other such malady, I promptly went to the Emergency Room.

You can tell something isn't right when the ER doctor doesn't poke you. She stood behind me (well, she had to in this case) and just looked. She might have gently touched...but there was definitely no poke involved. I think she was afraid. Heaven help me, the ER doctor lady was afraid to touch my butt, I just know it. She didn't say she was - but I could tell. There are some things you don't do in life: You don't poke a glowing green meteorite from outer space with a stick...you don't go down into the basement in a horror film...and you don't touch Mariann's butt in the Emergency Room at 2:00 a.m.

It's getting quiet "next door". I think I might be next. It's 10:22. I've been here since 8:15 for my 8:30 appointment...which brings me back around to talking.

I had another captive audience in the waiting room again - and I took advantage of it again. I spoke with a lovely 72-year-old woman whose mother died in 1999 at the age of 98; her father made it all the way to 101. She didn't look a day over 59...and, altho she was here on "Butt Day Friday", she might have been here to see another doctor. I'll never know now -- as that darned nurse-type person interrupted our conversation by calling her away.

But all was okay - two unsuspecting victims walked in by the time she went totally thru the door. "Replacement talkers" as I refer to them...and they, too, were both lovely people.

And I just ran out of useable paper space...and the doctor's here.

(Seriously, I ran completely out of useable paper space just exactly when I wrote "...I just ran out of paper..." and just exactly then...the doctor came in. I couldn't have timed that any better if I wanted.)

The aftermath...and the math:

I got my third banding today...and I was pretty much right with my butt...but, I won't go into detail. He assures me, somewhat, that if I stick to his diet and eat more fruit - I can heal up...but I have to eat all those fruits. If I don't, he figured we might have to talk surgery. Ugh. No fun. No fun at all. I will try to eat those fruity things I am not partial to eating. I like vegetables much better anyway. But I do like staying out of surgery even more.

Please go over to "We Work for Cheese" for much better blog subject matter today...using today's prompt "compulsively".

In case you thought there was an excessive amount of the words "but" and "butt" - you were right - I used them 18 times in this story. Well, counting those two...I used them an even twenty. :)

 

 

 

Caterwaulking the Halls

This is "Day 5" of the "We Work For Cheese" website's non-contest contest for February...today's prompt is "You better put out".  Please check out the other blogs while you are there as we are all slowly losing our minds trying to fulfill this mission we undertook.

Yes, this could have gotten a lot more sexual with that prompt that should have prompted me to go that way...but it's late and people only read the first eight posts anyway, so I'm going to talk about my cats. Everyone likes a cat story, right?

Right.  Here goes...

We have a couple chatty cats...we're talking cats that walk around meowing something the entire day. I don't know what they're saying, but they are pretty damned determined to get their point across. In fact, I think they're probably wondering, since we're the ones with the opposable thumbs, that we should be the ones who should know what they want, yet we walk around asking them, "What do you want?" -- like they're supposed to just break out in human-speak any second.

Yes, humans are a stupid race.

Well, don't believe everything you've read about cats sleeping 23 hours a day and only being nocturnal. Since we (my son and I) are up at nite and asleep during the day - we know they are up at all hours...and talking. And, cats, especially chatty ones, will wait until you are three minutes into a full sleep and then walk up and down the hallway meowing up a storm.

And they don't shut up...seriously...they don't.

You figure to yourself, "They're going to get bored eventually and jump up on the cat tower and fall asleep...they are going to get bored and stop it any minute...they are going to get the hint and just go away...any second...any second now..."

But they don't. Cats are not only curious, but tenacious as well.

So, the routine around here before we crawl off to bed in the wee hours of the morning (when everyone else is getting up), goes something like this:

Son (to me): "Seriously, if they start meowing up and down the hallway, I'm going to throw them out. They can stay out there."

Me (to my son): "I can't toss them out...it's cold out there. They can't stay outside - they'll freeze...I'm keeping them in."

Son (back to me): "You better put out Pablo...all he does is cry...and he comes into my room and pees."

Me (back to son): "Then close your door."

Son (back to me): "I can't close my door...Binky won't be able to go out to use the litter box. I'm going to bed. Make sure you throw Pablo out."

Me (to son): "Well, I'm not tossing him out...it's too cold. He's sleeping in the cat thingy now anyway. I'm going to bed as soon as the Ambien kicks in."

(Segue to my son sleeping in his room with the door cracked a tad...and me attempting to doze off with a tube sock shoved in the door jamb as the cats can open it up otherwise. I have a couple cats that insist on purring for about an hour when they jump on the bed...and while purring is indeed a nice sound...purring at the decibel level of a small jet aircraft on take-off -- while you are trying to sleep, is not. So, my door is held tight by ugly ingenuity [not unlike my cat-proof faucet baggie fix] while I peacefully slumber.)

Pablo: "Meow...(pause)...meow.  Meooooowwww. Mrrrrrrrow...(pause)... rrrrrrrrr... rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrow. Mrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrow...rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrooooooow...meeeeeeeeeeeeeowwwww... (pause) ...rrrrrrrrrrroooooooow...mrrrrrrrrrrrrrrowwwww. Mrrrrrrrroooow.  Mew....mrrrrrrrrrrrow...mwowwwwww. Rrrrrrrewwwww...meowwwwww..."

Me and my son (to each other - three minutes after my Ambien kicks in...and an hour after my son has been sleeping): "Can you throw that damned cat out already??"

(Pablo...wanting to go outside before the mewfest later on tonite. Yes, those are scratch marks on the door frame.  Lovely, aren't they?  They lend an air of rustic ambiance to the room, don't you think?)



Day 13: Pleasure

Today's word is "Pleasure". I had a whole lot of ideas...most bad...and most requiring light...but, true to my "experiment" I've been doing...Ambien has to be involved in at least one portion of the contest. Most times both the photo and the write-up are Ambien-induced.

First, check out the other participants at Ziva's "30 Days of Photographs" non-contest...and then look for my photo and write-up below: MikeWJ, Nicky and Mike, Mo, Meleah, John, aka nonamedufus, Bryan, aka Unfinished Person, Malisa, Nora, LaughingMom, Tanya, Elizabeth A., 00dozo, Cheryl, Kristen, Katherine, and Ziva.


My interpretation of Day 12: Pleasure:

This is my phone. I have two other handsets...one of which doesn't work anymore. It probably doesn't work because I wore it out. You see, my pleasure is talking. I love to talk...on the phone is fine -- in person, even better. I'm not sure if I just like a captive audience...or I like hearing the sound of my own voice. I know the sound of my own voice is horrible...but I hear it differently, and, to me, it sounds quite pleasant.

So, I thought the handset would get my point across for today's theme...it was either this or a photo of my mouth...and, trust me, the handset is much more photogenic. ;)

The Rift of Gab

I like to talk.

Everyone who knows me knows this.

This is how I start all practically all conversations when I meet someone: "Hi...blah blah (please insert actual words in place of the "blah blah"...as I don't actually SAY "blah blah") blah...by the way, I tend to NOT shut up. If you start talking to me...I can not and WILL not stop. And IF we ever talk on the phone...well, I had one call I made to a new friend in Hawaii from 12:30 - 7:00 a.m. the other nite. Yes, she is now my new "official record holder".

Poor thing.

So I think you get the picture.

Well, another friend I have (all my friends are not in any reasonable driving distance, by the way...possibly for a reason) called me today to let me know he just signed up for one of those unlimited long distance calling plans. And he was quick to toss in "...but I'm going to be watching a game tonite so don't call me".

Now, I'm not completely stupid - I know what the deal is and I told him: "You got this plan just so you can call to tell me not to call, huh?" Oh, sure - I know I call - I call a lot. Try to make me feel even more guilty about it than I already do. Take note that I stressed the word "try".

Are you one of those people who are always doing the dropping by someone's house or calling them up? After a while you think to yourself..."Self...if they really wanted to associate with you, they'd once in a while be on the receiving end...maybe, just maybe they are giving you a not too subtle hint?"

But then I remember what my friends always say..."I wish we lived closer as we could go over to each other's houses and hang out together". But then I counterthink with "well, maybe they are just saying this BECAUSE they don't live near me"...you know, the way people offer to help you when they never intend to - to begin with? Sorta like when people say "see you later" when you just met them - and you will never see them again as long as you live. So...it's my uneducated guess that if we lived closer we'd undoubtedly see some idiosyncrasy we do which grates on the other's nerves which we don't see over the phone and then we'd never go out again. You know - like when you go out with someone to a nice restaurant and they hold their knife like the killer in "Psycho"...only sticking straight up and down in a Neanderthalish manner? Or when someone uses their finger to scoot their food onto their fork at the very same restaurant...or reaches into their mouth repeatedly with what appears to be their entire hand to pick something out from between their back molars? Or...okay...okay...I'll stop...but you know...things like that which they never stop - yet they'd chastise their own child at the dinner table at home for doing the same thing.

I know what you are thinking: Who am I to talk about stopping since I never stop...talking? And don't I have some of my own idiosyncrasies? Yes, I do. But they are the good ones to have.

Don't believe me...give me a call and we'll talk about it. ;)