Who knew that the Pope’s visit to the United States would absolutely set my blog on fire!! I mean all my usual Googles for “ghetto crackhead whores”, “Creamsex” and “Nude woman bending over a car” are now mixed in with a bazillion hits for the “Pope’s Seven Commandments”. Woo hoo! I should really run for President. I mean look at the vast cross section of people I appeal to!!! Pervs and Catholics!!
Oh wait….I know there an obvious joke in there somewhere.
Anyways, I went for my yearly mammogram yesterday. I had to sorta press for it because it seems that our lovely government just arbitrarily decided I could no longer get a yearly physical like I have for the last 12 years. Oh no. Why would we want to do preventative health care when we could just let people get sick and accrue millions of dollars worth of medical bills.
I do enjoy my yearly school pictures of “the girls“…not. But since breast cancer runs in the family and killed my grandmother in her early 40’s and even had me under the knife about 10 years ago for a lump, I am vigilant about going every year. So I got to the place at 10 a.m. and what do you think? There was yet another bratty little boy in the small room where you take off your clothes on the top half. The kid was talking a mile a minute and running around near the dressing rooms and knocking magazines off the table. WTF? Why are they bringing little boys in there? And then suddenly I hear him ask his mother “What’s a MAN-ogram?” I had to laugh to myself a bit. I had just been looking for a birthday card for “A” and saw this one that said: “If women ran the world…” with a nurse leading a quivering guy to a mammogram machine, only a little lower, if you get my drift. I knew it was wildly inappropriate, but I still considered it for about 3 seconds.
Finally mom and ritalinkid disappeared and it was time for my mammogram. Naturally on the paperwork I had indicated that I had been operated on and for some strange reason the nurse wanted to actually see the scar….on my boob. HUH? Nobody has ever asked me that before. Its been 10 frickin’ years. I barely even remembered where it was. Besides the fact that its weird anyways that you have to unsheath your mammory to a total stranger (is it warm in here?) and literally put it into their hand (What sign are you again? A Leo? Oh, I’m an Aquarian) and let them handle it like a piece of chicken they’re marinating (Do you want to meet at Barnes and Nobles for a latte?). I mean, why should I have to get it out to just show it to her?
So I opened my little generic nightie and nervously looked down at my left breast and kind of examined it like Agent Mulder might examine a piece of glowing alien cranium. Hell, I couldn’t find a 10 year old scar, in a darkened x-ray room, with some woman looking at me. Eeeesh! So I finally just said, Oh, I think this is it. And then she proceeded to say, “I think I see it” (yeah, right, should we smoke a cigarette now?) and then we finally went onto the squishing of innocent breasts into heavy machinery part. Yay!
Amazingly, she called me within an hour and said the results were “negative” and have a nice day. I guess that’s good. Is it? So I turned to Guardcat and said “She said the results were negative, just like me!!” Sometimes only Guardcat “gets” my humor.
It was art class day that day, and I had to call “L”s answering machine. She had a message with a Cockney accent, so I left a message for Eliza Doolittle. Why? Because I actually had a minor freelance job Wednesday afternoon. I haven’t had any kind of job for over a year, over or under the table, so I jumped at the offer. The job? Put together a newsletter about cemetaries. First thing on the agenda? Meet the person and drive up to the cemetary and take pictures of masoleums.
Did I mention I’ll do almost anything for money?
So we met up where I have my art class a little after 5 p.m. and fortunately it was a beautifully warm and sunny day. And I’m an avid photographer, so I had my little digital camera all set in my purse. I had never been to this particular cemetary before and little did I know it had something in common with the freakin’ Swiss Alps…as in large steep hills. Oh. my.god.
Now even though I’m a little chubby and suffer from fibro, I’m in pretty good shape from lots of walking. But as we drove around this huge cemetary, the person would stop their SUV and say “I’d like a picture of that” and it would be this tiny, little speck up on top of a muddy steep hill, I’d say “Oh, no problem”. But I really was afraid that I’d either fall on my ass or twist my ankle or something. And as I was traversing this one particularly big hill, I even momentarily felt like I was doing a “Biggest Loser” competition. Run up the steep muddy hill. Grunt. Make lots of faces. Cry a lot. Burn 3000 calories. Get yelled at by the skinny chick. Win a million dollars. But no, I was just taking pictures of dead people places. Whee!
They did hand me a twenty dollar bill when they brought me back to my car 45 minutes later. I guess I’ll be doing the graphics part this weekend.
I was totally exhausted for my art class with lots of sharp pain in my calves, but I really wanted to go because one of our usual artist guys was going to be posing nekkid and being the red blooded female that I am, I wanted to check out the goods. This guy is very full of himself and the one time he deemed me good enough to talk to, we realized that we both knew Married Guy’s wifie. Afterwards he said he had fruit flies flying around his head during the one hour pose. I guess when you’re totally awesome, stuff like that happens.