My Face, Your Ass

Today started out like any other day: me waking up, getting ready for the day with cereal and coffee, petting Goliath (Oh! We got a kitty named Goliath. I shall have to put up a posting about him. I am becoming a crazy cat person) and then leaving for a nice leisurely stroll to the Providence Train Station to catch the train to Boston.
While on the train I read, I doze off, I wake up and read, then doze off (perhaps I should go to bed earlier) then wake up and get off the train at back bay station.
This is usually a cattle rustle because everyone is mindless, and we just funnel through two sets of double doors and either walk or take the escalator up to the main platform of the station.
I decided to take the stairs because, ya know, I'm a chunky monkey and I need the exercise. As I'm walking up the stairs, I notice that a 20 something dude on the escalator is staring at me. I don't get self conscious or anything, I just immediately go to the most vain part of my mind: Oh he wants me.
I turn my head and smile at him, and just at that moment all traffic on the stairs stops, but I keep going. Unfortunately, the stairs are arranged so that your head is about the same level as the ass of the person in front of you.
I did a big ol face plant right into the old dudes ass.
Thank God for pants, because I was so deep up there I would have been able to tell what he had for dinner last night.
It is hard to pull away from giving someone a free colonoscopy with your face without looking like a total ass (pun here. Get it?) . I didn't. The guy in front of me turned around and gave me a doughy "I'm being herded like cattle and something new just happened and I don't know what to do so I'll keep eating my cud" look. I apologized. In fact I think I said something like "Oh my god, sorry, ew, sorry oh god, sorry" and kind of under my breath.
The guy next to me on the escalator kept going, but he saw the whole thing, and of course the son of a bitch was laughing.
Screw you ya bastard. I wasn't attracted to you in the first place, you slope headed, fish faced, mouth breather.
I needed to drain the lizard so I stopped by the Back Bay bathroom to relieve myself. So I pee (point of interest, it apparently doesn't matter where you piss in this bathroom. The walls and floor are saturated with it. Even the air. Gross), decide against washing my hands in the toilet paper clogged sinks, whip out my purell and give my hands a sterilizing once over.
As I head out, I notice in the mirror that I have this huge boogey hanging out of my nose. And then I realize that that was probably what the guy on the escalator was looking at. Well thanks for telling me, ya jerk!
Like I said, my day started off pretty normal, and so far it is just par for the course.

I am become an old man.

Last Friday, I went to bed at 9:30pm.
Last Saturday, I awoke at 8:00am.
Last Saturday night, I went to bed at 10:00pm.
Last Sunday, I awoke at 7:30am.

What the hell? At what point did I become old? In college, those awoke / went to bed times were reversed. This is an horrific step in the journey to wearing suspenders that hold my pants up around my armpits, and I look forward to my mashed banana, "Are You Being Served" at 7pm on PBS, and having slow easy glide enemas to ease my constipation. You know what I mean, this is the journey of a thousand miles and it is starting with a bed time. Damn it.

Today I woke up with a swollen toe. Not in a good "A storm is coming" way but a "Oh shit, my warranty is up" way. The second metatarsal / phalanges on my left foot decided that it didn't want to work. I woke up and it said "Hey, fuck it. I'm done. Count me out."
I figured that this new development was something that maybe needed to be walked off.
Nope.

It seems that the rest of the toes are fine, but my second one it just refuses to lift up. That's when the pain happens, trying to bend my toe upwards like in a normal step. As I hobbled into work, I called my doctor and made an appointment for later in the day.

Fast forward 6 horrific and painful hours (I was at work after all. The toe was just annoying and unpleasant) I called a cab, and hauled my ass over to the doctor's office.
He watched me squirm out of my shoe, then examined my toe and said "Well, it might be broken. What did you do?"
"Nothing. I woke up."
And this is what he says, I shit you not:
"Ah, it's starting."
Holy shit! Is there like a clock on my back?! Does he actually measure your life using http://www.deathclock.com/ ?

Sitting there crestfallen, shell shocked, and dumbfounded (all at once) at his implication that I am not immortal he continues to poke and prod my toe watching me wince the whole time. He's a sadist, I'm sure of it now.

He gave me an order slip to go have X-rays taken of my foot just down the street. I said thank you, paid my $25 co-pay and limped out of there.

My doctor's office was very polite and considerate, and had made me an emergency appointment with a podiatrist down the road. I was to get my X-rays taken and then head on up to this foot lover's guild.

My primary care physician is at 1269 Beacon Street. The radiology lab and the podiatrist at both at 1101 Beacon Street. The appointment is for 3:15. It is now 2:50 and I'm walking 10 feet in as many minutes.

In fear that I wouldn't get help, I started to walk faster and in the process I am sure damage my foot even more. But I'm a champ so I grit my teeth, curse under my breath, and over my breath, and haul my chubby ass to the doctors. I make it to the Radiology lab and surprisingly am seen very fast. Like seconds. This nice woman leads me into a thick walled room, tells me to take off my shoe, hop up onto this cold metal table, and put my foot on this black sheet of photo film.

She then casually hands me a lead apron and says "Yeah, cover your lap with this."

Ok bitch. A few things we need to go over.

1) Your casual patient/nurse decorum is fine out in the hallway, but when you are gonna fire up a 12 million watt, X-ray inducing machine, I'd prefer if you'd take on a little more professional tone.

2) My lap? Or my BALLS?! Which one? Cause this 1' square piece of lead ain't gonna cover the massive contents of crotchel region. I'm just sayin' is all.

3) You are firing sperm killing, mutation engaging, freak creating X-RAYS at my body, and I know it is old hat for you, but SHOULD I COVER MY FUCKING BALLS WITH SOMETHING OTHER THAN THIS TINY PIECE OF LEAD CLOTH THAT YOU'VE HANDED ME?!!!!!

Before I could spurt out any of these questions, the bitch disappeared behind her lead shield. In panic I grasped my kugelsac through the lead cloth and heard the characteristic angry electronic bark indicating that I'd been saturated with super power inducing X-rays.

"Move your foot to the left" - MMMERRRZAP!

"To the right" - MMMERRRZAP!!!!

"Now place your head under the lamp" - MMMMMMMMMMEEEEERRZZZAP!!!!!

Ok, that last one didn't happen, but it may as well could have for all you know.

I saw the digital negatives come up on screen, and I asked if there would be a way that I could have a copy. The nurse smiled and said "Sure, you can have some should you need a second opinion".

So the nice X-Ray technologist who just created mutated sperm in my gonads pleasantly handed over a copy of my foot bones to me. Isn't that special?

Here they are. Photo quality might not be the greatest, but here goes:

Ok, so now it is 3:15 and I have to haul my ass up 2 flights of stairs ( I took the elevator, of course) and I show up to the foot fetish lounge.

I answer some insurance questions, get asked several times who my primary doctor is, and after every answer I get "Oh...Him."

Alright, little creepy, but whatever. I like him. I'll look past this.

So I get led into this back room, and I'm told to take my socks and shoes off so the doctor will be better able to come in and suck on my toes. I mean examine my toes.

Side note: You have to be messed up to want to work with feet. I mean, working with intestine is shitty, but at least it isn't with people's nasty ass feet. Don't get me wrong, my feet are perfect, but I'm just sayin', some peoples aren't so good.

This portly older gentlemen whom I can only describe looks like a southern Colonel minus the weird white goatee comes in and greets me.

This is the type of person who has charisma and presence. Someone you instantly like despite the fact that he's a stranger.

"Hello Mr. Carlson, what seems to be the trouble with your toe?"

"Well, I can't bend it. The others are fine... YEEEOWW!!!!" I scream as he bends down, grabs my bad toe, and peels it backwards.

"Guess that hurt huh?" he chuckled

Despite myself, and the blinding wall of red pain that I'm seeing through, I chuckle as well. What can I say? This guy has an affability that needs to be researched.

"Does it hurt when you pee?"

"Yeah, but only because I squeeze every last drop out"

Chuckle. "I mean, does it burn?"

"No. That's a foot related question?"

"Yes haha, it might mean you have (something or other that I completely forgot because he then man handled my toe, sending waves of agony up into the pit of my stomach)"

He took my X-rays, looked at them, and saw something there that I didn't see at all (Oh, if you look real close, you'll see I have a bone spur on my big toe. Isn't that interesting / disgusting?)

As I was looking at the X-Rays, he bent down and began suckling on my toes. "I'm testing to see if there are any bacterial infections. This may take a minute". Ok, that didn't happen, but I know that kinky freak was thinkin' it. Him an his lovable portliness.

"Do you eat beef? Drink excessive amounts of red wine?"

No, and no.

"Might be gout, might be arthritis. We'll get some blood work done on you, and we'll see what it is. For now we'll put you in a buddy splint." - which basically is means he just taped my big toe to the damaged toe next to it. Surprisingly it did help. These freaky foot doctors sure know their stuff! He bandaged me up, caressed my foot for a few more minutes, moaned inappropriately, and then smelled his hands. No lie.

Ok, maybe a little lie. The bandaging did happen though.

He then says to me "Don't worry, maybe it is just some inflammation. Nothing to be worried about." Stands up, says goodbye to me, then heads out the door.

Not three feet from the door, his nurse practitioner says "So what's the verdict?" And as loud as if he were talking across the room, says "Probably Gout."

WTF?! Give me a straight answer you sideways foot loving pain inducing ..... aw, I can't stay mad at you! You're so portly and cuddly!! (Fuck, how does that man do it!!!)

I hop on down to the lab to get my blood work done, and of course they are closed for the day. Not wanting to have to come back again for blood work alone, I remember that there is another lab 2 blocks down the street.

Ok, I can walk 10 feet in 7 minutes, that should only take me 5 more hours. Dammit!
Again, I grit my teeth, spit blood, and of course push an old woman who happened to be walking faster than me over on the way there.

I get to the lab, and of course there is drama there. So much so that I'm a little worried.

"I'm supposed to be done for the day, I ain't doing any more!" screams a woman.

"They've been waiting an hour!" screams the boss.

Oh god. Great, this cross eyed pin sticker is pissed, and she's going to take it out on me.

My turn comes up, and I hobble over. "Oh great, your info isn't filled out. Your doctor probably wanted to get out of there, just like me."

In my humble and terrified voice, I say "I'm sorry" (Insert puppy dog eyes here)

"Oh honey, don't worry, it's ok. I'm not upset at you." Success!!!! I can still win 'em over.

So here I am. Waiting to see if I have gout. I was going to research the disease, but instead I figured I'd type it into my blog. My god, this took almost an hour. Time to get to bed!!

Fashion Faux Paux

Several months ago, I bought (on sale of course) a shoulder bag / satchel / man purse at The GAP for around $30. My previous shoulder bag had waisted away where the straps hinge to the bag. This one was kind of nice; the shoulder straps had metal hinges that attached to metal brackets on the bag, so there would (hopefully) be no cloth deterioration on the straps.
I have to admit, this is a nice bag: Brass buckles, leather straps, smooth black fabric. It's fancier than what I need it for which is dumping assorted gum wrappers, holding purell bottles, stuffing my yellow and black scarf that resembles the House of Hufflepuff that was hand made by my mother, and whatever book I am reading at the time.
Today on my commute into work, I wedge myself down into a seat on the orange line, and dive balls deep into my Bon Appetite magazine. I was perusing a letter a woman had written concerning her love affair with Celery Root (no lie) when I happened to glance up and see a very pinched, curt, coiffed man standing before me.
This was the sort of man that you instantly identify as trendy, fashionable, and of course, a flaming homosexual.
His shoulder bag was at my eye level, and low and behold, he had the same exact one I had purchased and was now resting on my lap. When people hang out and we are wearing the same articles of clothing, I really don't give a damn. Who cares? We happened to buy the same thing (probably on sale) and happened to wear it at the same time. No big whoop.
Other people (typically people you see on Jersey Shore, douche bags, people over concerned with appearance and fashion, shallow people, and people I just generally don't like very much) get wicked freaked out by this and will often leave a party to go change, or distance themselves to opposite sides of the room so as to not look like you are together. Such as this primped little bitch standing before me.
He sees me eyeing his bag, looks down at my crouch (or course he would, how can you not? It is so impressive and all. Hell, I'm looking at my crotch as I type this) and sees my bag in my lap.
The little queen huffs, makes a sour, disgusted look at me and my bag, makes sure I see him look at my bag, and moves (MOVES!!) down the train to the other end.
I laugh out loud (I lol'ed. Literally) and continued reading about how a woman desires the knobby fibers of the celery root. I love people! It takes all kinds to fill a subway car. :).
Happy Commuting!