Saturday, August 27, 2011

Me, Myself, a Midget Mummy, and Irene

1. It's been awhile: Like a month of what felt like August's grit clogging my abilities to write about anything funny. Which is sad because life is so stinking hilarious
and then you die.

2. Also, I've been reading a bit too much of an Young-Adult Fiction series where people fight to the death, hunt their own food, and live in a very imaginable third-world, dystopian future, so perhaps that has made things a bit macabre to say the least.

However, it should be known that these books have inspired me a bit: I have taken a liking to the bow-and-arrow (survival archery) and in the past week, I have successfully shot and killed a loaf of bread, a few stray bananas, and a bag of Trader Joes' Turkey Jerky for my family. They are really proud.

And with Irene now rearing her ugly, black head (like the break-outs, not like a racist way of referring to the Americans that listen to rap music don't need to wear sunblock), my parents are even more proud that I can finally contribute to the household, and in such extreme times.

And today I provided a horrendous amount of Chinese food for my family. Although I did not shoot the food with a bow-and arrow. Just the delivery boy.

3. Yesterday my mother had her surgery, which meant I was up at 4:00 a.m. after I had gone to bed at 2.  I felt like a farmer. In the confusion, I tried to milk my pillow pet. Who else gets up that early?

I sat around in the same waiting room for 8 hours. And it felt like the universe was trying to milk me. But that was mostly because I drank so much coffee that gravity was was tickling my Gallbladder.

For eight hours, I watched families come and go, I watched really awkwardly shaped people herded in to be prepped for surgery like cattle, I watched a lot of merciless CNN stories on a loop, much like my bowels. I watched my mother's surgeon make bad jokes before her surgery, and then worse ones when he came to speak to me after the procedure, I watched a lot of pages with words, I watched the bottoms of many cups of coffee( they were all white!) I watched the receptionist ask me to answer the phone for her while she stepped out to track down a family, I watched my dad being interviewed for a trade-magazine, I watched nothing and everything.

And then I died.

4. I don't think this is technically a separate point, but it makes the end of point three more poignant, and possibly ridiculous, if I end it on such a staggering, staccato note

(Always a b fart. I mean flat) .

My mother's surgeon told me my mom would be bandaged up pretty tautly, and demonstrated this with his arms stretching out slightly arched, but flatly, as if he were reaching out for me to hug him. Or something. He told me I would probably need to feed her among other things over the next few days.

Of course this gave me sadistic ideas--or jokes depending on your sense--my favorite idea was to wrap my mom up with toilet paper, with her arms already bandaged and stretching outward, and then take her for a stroll down a cemetery at night.

I may have a sixth sense of humor ( I just made a META PUN!), but I think that imagery is so funny. So did my mom while she was flying a kite on pain killers. (That was metaphorical even though her arms are already in the position I suppose)

5. It's time to go wrestle Irene. She is lubed up in the mud pit, and I am as dry as...I normally am on a Saturday night.

Be safe. Wear protection. Enter her with Caution. And disinfectant.

Over and Out:kshh
-Michelle J

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