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They are fired. Bad genes.

Issue Date: Wednesday, Apr. 25, 2007

This day has sucked eight kinds of ass… including platypus. And that’s saying something. I have also noticed that I have been cranky lately. Have you guys? You think it might be the vegetarian diet or that I may just waste away on my wheat noodles and veggie marinara? Maybe just maybe….

But check this shit out. I went back to get my blood drawn on Monday. Y’all knew that right? Right. Okay… so I went to see (hot) Dr. Eduardo yesterday at 1:30 for a late lunch appointment. Right? Right. Whatever, y’all just want me to get to the good stuff right? Where I say that (hot) Dr. Eduardo told me that I could live in a vat of cheese because my triglycerides are so low. Right? Right… me too. Where he would say, “Why Susan, your bodunkadunk has nearly worn away in the six weeks that you have forsaken meat, you must get back on that Bacon Wagon and ride it until you have junk in your trunk once more… this is a travesty I say… [shaking fist] A TRAVESTY!”

Yeah, well I wanted that shit too. But this is what actually happened. Long story or short? Short?

… Fine.

I lost almost 6 pounds and when he opened my chart to look at the blood results he fucking laughed.

He looked from one set of results to another. He kept laughing. I started getting tingly in my no-no parts… I was thinking to myself, “Mirth? Merriment? That must be good news right? He is going to give me the green light on dairy and I can stop singing that freaking Hymn and getting all Moses-y, ‘Let my dairy goooooooooooooo.’”

But nay my darlings, naaaaaaay.

Remember that my triglycerides were like 464 and shit?

Yeah, go on and guess what they were yesterday. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

[Theme Song from Jeopardy]


Wrong bitches. My triglycerides were fucking 600.

I looked at (hot) Dr. Eduardo and just sort of blinked at him and he goes, “Soosahn… you must call up your mooothar and your fahthar and fire them immediately. They are fired. Bad genes.” And he kept laughing.

Yeah, ha ha, very funny mother fucker. I gave up cheese for this shit. CHEESE. So, he put me on two medications and asked me to come back in three months. I guess so he could laugh again.


I am like an anomaly or something. I lost weight, I ate healthy, I watched fat, cholesterol and caloric intake for six weeks and my triglycerides went UP TO 600!

And yeah, my fault, my bad… I called my mom to tell her she was fired. You know what she said? I will give you three guesses and the first two don’t count. “Well, at least you lost some weight… and Susan, exercise DOES help.” She got all caps lock-y on the DOES like I wouldn’t believe her. Started citing what she had read, friends who had high cholesterol. And all I wanted to do was scream at her. Not really anything in particular. Just more of an “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!” And then hang up. But, I didn’t. I just listened to her tell me what I should be doing to get myself right. And then I hung up when she was through and called Mister.


I was p-i-s-e-d (pised?) no… (Sweetest Thing humor) I was pissed.

He listened, he did not try to fix my feelings, he appropriately did the, “Oh baby!” thing that I need to hear every now and again and then he goes. “You know. I am aware that you like for your parents to know what you are going through and that y’all are close, but baby… if your mother can not keep her promise about leaving you alone about your weight, or if she relates everything back to scooterville or something then you are just going to have to stop talking to your parents about your health, your surgeries, your cholesterol, everything. If you don’t want to hear her drone on and on about this that and the other thing* then just stop telling her about it.”

*This that and the other thing is code for = my mother is embarrassed by my size.

And y’all know what? He is totally right. I know she can’t help it. She is just… that way. And to keep telling her shit over and over and expecting her to react differently is just not sane, so… I will remove that factor from the situation. And in a few months when she asks me about it (if she does) then I will do the, “Great… great, everything is just great.” routine.

That Mister is smart. S-M-R-T.

Fucking 600. It went up.


But this morning, I called her, apologized for snapping at her, listened to the, “But Susan I am just so worried about your health!” blather and then hung up.

Remind me… no more.


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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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