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the latest waddle:

good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03

elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01

building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19

ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09

my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04

2007-02-07 ... 12:14 p.m.

Hey yo, it's February now. How did that happen? I have been busy applying warm compresses to my neck, chest wall, and groin. Also taking small sips of warm, sweetened, nonalcoholic beverages. Oh wait actually that is what victims of hypothermia are supposed to do, pardon my confusion (also a symptom of hypothermia) as it is three million below with windchill here. Part of me enjoys it, in a sick way, in a "I love the smell of napalm in the morning" way, except in Chicago's case we don't smell napalm in the morning---we smell NOTHING AT ALL because the sides of our nostrils freeze together every time we inhale. However, clouds often have icy silver linings, in the form of no hobo-stink. No hobos, either. They are either in shelters or frozen solid behind the playground equipment: a delightfully traumatizing frozen treat for your children to discover on the first warm day.

I went for my yearly physical last week, as one is supposed to do. I did this with some trepidation, because last year's physical was when I found out that I pee blood and we all know what a ridiculous six-month-long clusterfuck that turned out to be. At the appointment, the nurse did all the nurse stuff. Then the doctor showed up and started doing all the doctor stuff. One of the doctor things involved saying my height and weight out loud and then pulling this little cardboard wheel out of her doctor pocket. After a few iPod-esque thumb motions, the doctor said this, and I quote:

"Okay, you're somewhat near the top of the normal weight range for your height. If you lost ten pounds, you would be in the middle of the range."

You go, Math Genius Doctor! I am instantly reminded of the 24-ounce jar of salsa that is 50% MORE THAN THE 16-OZ SIZE!!!!! Yeah, and if I lost twenty pounds I guess I'd be at the bottom of the normal range. And if I lost thirty pounds I would be underweight. Wait, why are we even talking about this? You did use the words "normal range," right?

I don't say any of this, of course, as there is something about the doctor's office that makes me lose all vocabulary prowess and I end up just with "yes," "no," and "okay." By this point the doctor had found out that I've been running ten miles a week and she says, "Well, you are obviously getting enough exercise, so really it is just about eating less."

Here's an idea, Dr UnnecessaryComment. Dr Shutthefuckup. Dr WhyYouGottaBeThatWay. How about YOU eat less? Specifically, why don't you eat less infected gorilla scrotum? I can only surmise that you have the simian foamy virus and it has attacked your brain and that is why you are making no sense. Previously simian foamy virus has not caused symptoms in humans but you might be the first case. Are you following me? Observation: you make no sense. Hypothesis: you have a neurological disorder caused by eating infected gorilla scrotum. See? Logic. It's really not that difficult to understand. Allow me to slightly misquote Lil' Kim here:


Miscellaneous points:

1. I know it is all about height/weight and BMI and proportionality blah blah, but since I am but a wee thing we are talking pretty small absolute numbers here. Maybe I am delusional but I just have a hard time thinking of myself as headed for obesity when I weigh less than some dogs.
2. Speaking of all those "objective" standards like BMI: I am within! the! normal! range! So please to cram the "lose ten pounds" up your board-certified ass.
3. LT and I have the same doctor. Now, I happen to think LT is smokin' the way he is. As long as he continues to be healthy and provide me with the same high-quality orgasms and companionship as he always has, I'm certainly not going to complain about anything weight-related. But if we stood next to each other and asked you, "which one was told by a doctor to lose ten pounds?" you would to point to him. However, LT says that our doctor has never, ever, said one word about his weight.

To sum it all up: I am not going to switch doctors. I am not going to lose ten pounds. I am going to go to the gym, run on the treadmill (Dinosaur Jr, Daydream Nation, and some embarrassing downloaded cock-rock songs [shhhh]), lift weights (over-loud Christina Aguilera mixes), come home, and drink Old Style (Wu-Tang, Schubert's Death and the Maiden quartet, my daughter's monologues) just like I always do. I am going to continue to wish I were a brain in a jar, but I am going to try and appreciate my body for its alcohol-processing, fine-cheese-digesting, LT-pleasuring capabilities. And if the topic comes up next year, I am going to politely tell my doctor to eat a bag of dicks. Is there a polite way to do that? I will find one.

Okay, that's enough. I really did not want to write about this at all, but after several aborted entries about other topics, where this ten-pounds crap kept creeping in anyway, I gave up and surrendered. I feel better now.

By the way, farting on a salsa dancer? Not cool.

---mimi smartypants: set it and forget it.


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