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Dr. Goatee, Links and Some Guilt

Issue Date: Friday, Feb. 20, 2004

I feel like Tall-ee McTallister today. I do have short and tall days depending on my posture, how I slept, choice of footwear, frequency of chiropractic appointments and other such variables. Today all the tall stars must be in alignment as I am an Amazon. Rawr.

I went to the cuda doctor yesterday to get my princess oiled, lubed, rotated and balanced. At least, that’s what it felt like Doctor Goatee was doing.

That chair thing with the leg-holder deals is hideous.

I was so nervous about the appointment because, Hey! Who doesn’t want a complete stranger getting all up in that with a jaws-of-life metal torture device in reverse? But I was so nervous that I started sweating [and because I couldn’t be anymore uncomfortable with the situation] I actually stuck to that ‘protect the Naugahyde!’ paper strip.

Yes, you read that correctly. I was stuck to the chair of embarrassment.

“Just Relax” … My. Ass.

Dear Doctor Goatee, telling me to relax in a very anxious voice doesn’t work. It doesn’t work even worse when you smoosh my right boob into my spine.

Yes, there is a lump there. Yes, it is uncomfortable when you grab my tit and drag that bad girl into the next room to show the nurse. Yes, I have had a mammogram. Two actually. Yes, it’s there [points] in my chart.

Yes, I am only 31.

Please don’t make me feel any more anxious and freaked the fuck out when you follow each “It doesn’t seem to be cancer” sentence with, “Notice I said seem.”

And BIIIIG side note here. Telling a patient that, “The only way anyone can ever be completely certain that a mass is not cancer is if the mass goes away, or if we remove it and the pathologist tells us it is not cancer” does not instill confidence.

On the way home, after I fled the chair of Satan, I called Mister to alert him to how the appointment went. He was appropriately “Aww baby” about the whole thing and even encouraged me when I pouted and ended the appointment synopsis with, “My boobs hurt… I think I need some new pants. Hmmmffff [pouty noise]”

So, cute, new, black, cargo pants, you are the replacement for my pride and payment for pain. I adore you.

Props to Preston and NN for linking to me. I appreciate it ya’ll!

Preston actually uses such phrases as “as I awakened Sunday morning after a long night of rich, pretentious faggotry” and his Mouse entry is Pure Gold!

NN is a sweet little pocket precious that I want to squeeze that writes poetry and loves her some kitties.

I stole this whole paragraph from Mimi Smartypants:

Swallow what you're drinking and then view this inexplicable sweater-related site: complete with unhappy model in metallic gold spandex pants. I am not doing it justice, seriously, go there now.

You must follow her advice… and the link. It is imperative.

This is one of the funniest things I have ever read. No. Really. Go read it now. I will wait.

I first read that story in 2002 when I followed a link from something. The "What? You want a peanut? The End is Nigh? Timmy fell down the well? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT??" Thing KILLED me. I forwarded that link onto my co-worker, my buddy Tim and my new boyfriend (the young Mister, before we were married of course). They all thought I was smoking crack.

But you might like it. You’re my friend right? My buddy, my pal?

I love you, you know. You look really pretty.

Ok, this linktastic Friday entry is giving me a bit of grief because I have something on my mind and I know that it needs to go away. Like, now.

I know that if I purge it onto here, I can get rid of it. But I don’t know how to do it with out sounding like a dork or giving anyone the wrong idea.

Oh hell.

When I was freshly divorced I got to meet up with a friend of mine. We knew that some feelings were there between us but we were not sure if it was because we were both in troubled marriages at the time our friendship started, the whole port in a stormy sea bullshit or if it was truly genuine.

I can see that October day in Oklahoma City so clearly.

I parked my truck, got out and summarily ran and jumped into this man’s arms.

I started thinking about this time in my life this past Wednesday night. For some reason I felt guilty. Jittery too. There I was laying in my marriage bed, next to my whole world, the man I love and I was thinking about ancient history. Why was this man, Kim, suddenly in my mind when I haven’t spoken to him in over two years?

No clue.


I used to feel guilty over my break up with Kim. He wanted to move to Dallas to be with me after his divorce but I didn’t want to be his net. Yanno? I wanted this him to find out what it was to be independent. I wanted him to stand on his own. I knew that if he moved here fresh from being Mr. Mom for a eleventy-four years that I would end up taking care of him and I did NOT want that.

I wanted someone to take care of me for a change.

I realized that things could never work out with Kim and I when I slammed him on his lack of drive, his lack of education and lack of a spine. I was ruthless.

How could I be so hurtful when all he ever did was shower me with love and affection?

I could do that because I knew he wasn’t the one. I was kidding myself when I even allowed him to come visit me. I was embarrassed when my friends asked, “So, what does he do?” and I had to answer, “He’s a bouncer for a ‘go-go’ club.” [eyes averted and everything]

No offense to go-go bouncers out there. Really.

I just didn’t want to be a partner to one with only a high school diploma, a busted up hoopty for a ride, two children who were the world to him, no ambition, no stability and the will for me to be his support, financial and emotional.

Nope. Nuh uh.

Not gonna happen. I’ve been down that road. I was the original East Texas friggin Florence Nightingale. I did my tour of duty when I was married to X.

I was not about to jump into that boat again.

I know I hurt his feelings. I felt like I needed to C-L-O-S-E that door. I didn’t want to leave it cracked anymore. When I left it cracked in the past he would be there. He was always there.

I just wanted a partner, not a charity event.

I felt like he truly loved me though. Really, truly loved me. But he wasn’t my equal and I would have ended up resenting him. It was harsh to realize and even harsher to verbalize. But I did it. And good Lawd Almighty and I glad I did.

I guess that was one of God’s answered prayers.

Thank you Lord. And Mister, I love you.


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

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