Reduce, Reuse, Ridiculous

Aside from the fact that if I were unleashed on the world with a red Bic ballpoint pen I would inevitably correct grammar and spelling mistakes on everything in sight, I cannot be loose on society with my mouth unfiltered, either.  Someone has been trying to set up a recycling effort at school.  And unfortunately, someone doesn’t have the sense of humor of a 13-year-old boy like Felix and I.  We fell over laughing in the teacher’s lounge at these priceless proclamations:

It’s that time of the month!

Put your cans here.

The gardening club wants your jugs!

Really, people.  My freakin’ blog writes itself sometimes.

Getting Purse-onal

Odd, bizarre one-sided conversation I was just forced to have with DonnyCat:  WTF? Get out of my purse!  

I look across the room and see approximately 5 pounds of your 14.6 pound baby kitten body shoved into my purse.  Seriously what on earth possesses you to think that you have the right to step your front paws and that gigantic fat head with its trapezoid ear into my belongings and rifle through all my sh1t?  No, I don't need you to dump all the contents out and scatter them to the floor below.  Please don't bite a hole in my tube of lip balm.  Don't chew and slobber on the cough drops!  And, no, I did not put that maxi-pad covered in the bright crinkly-sounding wrapper in their as a surprise cat toy for your amusement.  Get. Out. 

Strep Tease

Been home with strep for 4 days with fever and aches which turned into a sore throat and then an earache and then when the fever finally broke I ended up with a gigantic fever blister on my lower lip.  So my smiley face emoticon should look something like this right now:  

:-)*

At least if it was on my upper lip I could color it with an eyebrow pencil and pretend that it was a mole like Marilyn Monroe or something. 

Went to the doctor who took one look in my throat and proclaimed that my right tonsil was "really big and angry."  

No sh1t.  It is pushing so hard against my right ear, I have lost 2 pounds because I cannot swallow anything that has not been pre-approved by a dentureless nursing home menu planner - mashed potatoes, scrambled eggs, cream of wheat, and pudding.  

The doctor went on to explain that actually, both of my tonsils are big and angry, but the right one........  and I finished this statement for him:

The right one has taken off her earrings and kicked her pumps across the room. 

You Know What Mother Always Says…

I have become quite a barterer.  Keep in mind my 2 will-work-for-vodka transactions.  I have now negotiated for story rights – because, Felix owes me.  Felix owes me BIG TIME.  And my payment for being a dedicated, loyal, and giving friend is USUALLY vodka.  However, in this instance, my payment is permission to blog about her severe misfortune for my own sick, twisted entertainment. 

So.  Felix got another dog-bite from the killer-ear-eating dog last week – this time on her arm.  And it got infected.  It got so infected that Duckit, Hyphen, and I made her go have Nurse Ratchet take a look at it.  Nurse Ratchet deemed it to be severe enough to warrant a higher level of medical attention than the four of us standing around gawking and telling her it was gross and that she could be a zombie for Halloween.  I think the fact that I kept referring to her as “Double-Tap”  (a la “Zombieland”) did little to help deter the perception that we had some sort of gangrenous entity in our midst. 

So.  After school that day, Felix decided to go to the minor emergency clinic and see if she needed antibiotics or a lancing or better still – my personal favorite – an amputation.  By the time we all got there to check on her, I was h3ll-bent on getting to see an amputation, and I had pretty much convinced Felix to tell the nurses to write in her DNR/ directives and orders to come and get me and let me see it if they DID decide to do it.  The four of us managed to have WAY too much mirth and merriment in an exam room where people were SUPPOSED to be sick and injured and concerned and sh1t.   At this point, it had been determined that the Double-Tap status was severe enough to require HOSPITALIZATION.  So, when the doctor came in again, he asked Felix if there was anything that she needed to tell him before they made the hospital arrangements.  She snapped up with “If you have amputate, the one in pink gets to go in the operating room and watch.”  The doctor told her that would never happen because they would make me check my Black and Decker at the door. 

Private jokes that we were attempting to keep somewhat private began to fly across the exam room via text message at a disturbing rate.  At some point or other, Duckit interjected a text to Hyphen and me with the question “Is Felix wearing panties?”  Now, this may seem to be a completely heartless, inappropriate and random- @ss question to be texting to someone in an exam room with a friend in need, but Felix had shared with us recently that she had given up the wearing of knickers altogether.

The old adage / admonition that if you go to the hospital, then you should be wearing clean underwear does not become moot simply because you choose NOT TO WEAR underwear on that given day.

More simply put, if your dog-bite from a killer ear-eating dog gets infected enough to warrant medical attention, it is not a day that you should decide that unmentionables are optional. 

As soon as the doctors and nurses cleared the room again, we started devising the least horrible plan we could muster to acquire undies for Felix short of holding some sort of effed-up telethon in the waiting room.  The best plan we could think of involved MyPoolBoy bringing a pair of my most normal underwear from our house (since we live the closest to the emergency clinic).  As I dialed his number, I kept thinking of Rainman saying “I’m not wearing my underwear.”  Holding it together as best I could with Dustin Hoffman’s voice in my head, I tried to whisper to him the very specific directions of where to locate and procure a known-to-be-clean AND non-lacy pair of panties and then punctuated the conversation with the explanation that they were going to transfer Felix to the hospital.  He responded with “I don’t want to know” and then said he’d meet us with the panties in a few minutes. 

I called him back a few minutes later to tell him to just text me when he got to the waiting room and I’d come out and get them from him.  He asked if we were in the regular waiting room or the ER waiting room, and I told him “NO NO NO we are still at the emergency clinic.” 

His response was quite arguably the funniest dayum thing that I’ve heard someone try to say with a serious tone in a very long time:

“Hell, I’m already driving these panties to the hospital.”