Earlier tonight Mojo told me that my brain was just made of a gazillionty pieces of ABC bubble gum.
She says, "you know, the kind that tastes like bubble gum?"
"As opposed to what? The kind that doesn't taste like bubble gum?"
"OMG Mom, duh, the kind that doesn't taste like bubble gum is all gross like cotton candy or watermelon." (now go back and read that sentence as if an 8 year old valley girl was saying it to you with her hand on her hip and a little sass in her tone) She said with her nose all puckered up like something smelled bad.
So, that's my brain. ABC gum. Lots of it. That explains a lot. Really, if that were true the last few years would be totally explainable and maybe even normal. Except the cancer part, that's not very normal. But the rest could be. You know me well enough and you know exactly what I'm talking about. If you happen to also be on my late night, not entirely coherent, text circuit... well, you are just lucky. It's a treat. And, you know exactly how much fun it is to crawl inside this head and jump around in it, like a bounce house. There's a lot of hot air, some weird mesh fabric to keep things in and other things out, some duct tape patching up a few holes, and a few turrets because those houses are always shaped like sad little castles.
Today was a day worth forgetting until about 4:30pm. In fact, I really don't remember much of what happened today except for an "I love you" text that I totally needed when it came in because there could have been no better time to be reminded of that than that very moment. And, oh, my most favorite developer of all time ever quit today. But, around 4:30, after I had given some blood for more testing, eaten a digestive biscuit (my oncologist keeps HobNobs in his desk) and then vomited that precious biscuit in to my very own tiny little bucket, my doctor handed me a 44oz Diet Coke with pebble ice. And, then, he told me that I wasn't crazy because he knew crazy and it was in the form of a Polly Pocket sized, spray tanned orange, platinum blonde extension wearing, woman who had visited him an hour before with a stack of literature that she'd printed off of some online resource. In that stack she believed that she could prove that all of her symptoms would lead him to believe that she had leukemia.
After a full exam and some very quick tests he was able to tell her that she had some odd things in her blood stream and asked her if she had implants. Apparently in a very short amount of time he was able to narrow her symptoms down to toxic shock and was able to locate a leak in one of her giant implants.
Based on his play by play, this was her reaction:
"That's not possible, I went to the very best plastic surgeon in Las Vegas for these. I probably should have someone with more experience with this tell me exactly what this is."
And, this was his:
"I can assure you that there are few doctors in the state that have seen as many leaky implants as I have. You have a leak. It is compromising your blood. If you don't take care of this now it will get worse and lead to any number of problems."
Her answer:
"Can't you just patch it?"
Yes, she won the booby prize for the day. I got the giant Diet Coke and confirmation that my brain is made of bubble gum.
Leaky fake boobs kind of gross me out. Thankfully I had a bucket handy.
W
She says, "you know, the kind that tastes like bubble gum?"
"As opposed to what? The kind that doesn't taste like bubble gum?"
"OMG Mom, duh, the kind that doesn't taste like bubble gum is all gross like cotton candy or watermelon." (now go back and read that sentence as if an 8 year old valley girl was saying it to you with her hand on her hip and a little sass in her tone) She said with her nose all puckered up like something smelled bad.
So, that's my brain. ABC gum. Lots of it. That explains a lot. Really, if that were true the last few years would be totally explainable and maybe even normal. Except the cancer part, that's not very normal. But the rest could be. You know me well enough and you know exactly what I'm talking about. If you happen to also be on my late night, not entirely coherent, text circuit... well, you are just lucky. It's a treat. And, you know exactly how much fun it is to crawl inside this head and jump around in it, like a bounce house. There's a lot of hot air, some weird mesh fabric to keep things in and other things out, some duct tape patching up a few holes, and a few turrets because those houses are always shaped like sad little castles.
Today was a day worth forgetting until about 4:30pm. In fact, I really don't remember much of what happened today except for an "I love you" text that I totally needed when it came in because there could have been no better time to be reminded of that than that very moment. And, oh, my most favorite developer of all time ever quit today. But, around 4:30, after I had given some blood for more testing, eaten a digestive biscuit (my oncologist keeps HobNobs in his desk) and then vomited that precious biscuit in to my very own tiny little bucket, my doctor handed me a 44oz Diet Coke with pebble ice. And, then, he told me that I wasn't crazy because he knew crazy and it was in the form of a Polly Pocket sized, spray tanned orange, platinum blonde extension wearing, woman who had visited him an hour before with a stack of literature that she'd printed off of some online resource. In that stack she believed that she could prove that all of her symptoms would lead him to believe that she had leukemia.
After a full exam and some very quick tests he was able to tell her that she had some odd things in her blood stream and asked her if she had implants. Apparently in a very short amount of time he was able to narrow her symptoms down to toxic shock and was able to locate a leak in one of her giant implants.
Based on his play by play, this was her reaction:
"That's not possible, I went to the very best plastic surgeon in Las Vegas for these. I probably should have someone with more experience with this tell me exactly what this is."
And, this was his:
"I can assure you that there are few doctors in the state that have seen as many leaky implants as I have. You have a leak. It is compromising your blood. If you don't take care of this now it will get worse and lead to any number of problems."
Her answer:
"Can't you just patch it?"
Yes, she won the booby prize for the day. I got the giant Diet Coke and confirmation that my brain is made of bubble gum.
Leaky fake boobs kind of gross me out. Thankfully I had a bucket handy.
W
3 comments:
They don't make leaky boob patch kits? I thought they were in automotive.
Oh those bobble-head Polly Pockets. You'd think the head to body proportions would suggest SMARTS, but noooo...the fake tan, peroxide and may I dare say the Forever (trying to be) Young ensemble impede the brain cells from forming new synapses. Logic is therefore throw out the Escalade SUV window.
Love you long time. And your boobs.
bubblegum is bubblegum flavored?
Molls is a genius.
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