I'm back! With new and improved nipple!
First, let me play the sensitive boyfriend part and say "Sorry."
"I'm sorry. I never meant to do you wrong."
I never meant to leave my fans hanging on the Cliff of Waiting, teasing them with ropes of false promises of blog updates on topics that are now too old to touch (who really wants to hear my thoughts on the deaths of Pope John Paul, Terri Shaivo, and Johnny Cochrane now? Or my Easter stories for that matter? That's right- NO ONE! Well, only you Mamere, I apologize. Please don't cut off my wednesday night dinners).
My internet is down. The power is out in half of my house. And I'm lazy.
I had wanted my next blog topic to be an indepth analysis/review of "Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith", but I've yet to see it a sixth time (the time I can take notes) and I had a mental block that prevented me from even contemplating a different posting in its place.
But, it's time to fly that train and finally get back into the habit of blogging. So let's start with today's trip to the dermatologist, a trip that prevented me from heading to Chapel Hill and seeing some old Student TV folk who were up from way outta town.
A few months ago I had what I thought was a splinter in my foot between my ring-toe and pinkie-toe. But the splinter never came out, and the small cut grew and grew and in time became more and more annoying as I walked. Fearing it was more than just a splinter, I showed it to my mom, who with her powers of deductive motherly reasoning determined it to be a Planter's Wart (don't ask me, I never heard of them before). So she set up a meeting with a dermatologist in July to take a look at it.
And while I was there, I was to have him check out a dark spot on my chest that appeared in maybe the past six years. I used to joke that it was my "superfluous third nipple", but lately it looks like it's gotten darker and has the faintest feeling of being slightly raised above my skin.
Cut to a few days ago when I get a call telling me the appointment is this week, not next month, effectively cancelling my trip to collegetown. Well I go to the dermatologist's office today at 3:55 (my appointment is at 4), and I wait. And wait. And grumble. And complain (silently of course). I'm there for two hours waiting for my time in the office. And there is NOTHING substantial to read while passing the time away.
What kind of doctor's office has "Parenting", "Southern Living", "Sport Diver", "Dancer SPIRIT", "Dressage Today!", and "Hispanic Business" all over the coffee table in place of "Time", "National Geographic", "Newsweek", and "Entertainment Weekly"?! Are crazy housemothers and horseback riding, sport diving, dancing-latino-entrepreneurs the only people around here with skin problems?
I think not. Last time I checked, I dance horribly, don't have any kids, and dive as well as I ride.
Sigh.
Well, I finally get into the office and see the doctor. He's surprised I'm here alone (maybe he thought I was a young kid?)- "Oh, you're 23? An old man!"
OLD man???
Anyway, he takes a look at my foot. Yep, it's a planter's wart, and he proceeds to spray the thing down with what I assume is liquid nitrogen. Then I take off my shirt and show him the dark spot under my right breast.
Tell me the truth Doc, is it bad? Is it cancer?
"Well, this doesn't look harmful at all," he says casually, peering at it with his light. "In fact, it looks like the beginnings of a false third nipple."
Wait a sec. Scratch that. Back up.
"Did you say third nipple?"
"Yeah, it's harmless"
You gotta be kidding me. After six years of jokingly telling people that I, like Krusty the Klown, had a superfluous third nipple, it turns out to be TRUE?
Who would have guessed? So laugh it up, Fuzzballs!
On the drive home I talk to my friend Laura and tell her the humorous news.
"Uhh, I wouldn't tell that to too many people," she says.
Oops. Well, you guys promise not to point and laugh, right? Don't make me be that guy this summer who wears a t-shirt into the pool.
--Cbake
"I'm sorry. I never meant to do you wrong."
I never meant to leave my fans hanging on the Cliff of Waiting, teasing them with ropes of false promises of blog updates on topics that are now too old to touch (who really wants to hear my thoughts on the deaths of Pope John Paul, Terri Shaivo, and Johnny Cochrane now? Or my Easter stories for that matter? That's right- NO ONE! Well, only you Mamere, I apologize. Please don't cut off my wednesday night dinners).
My internet is down. The power is out in half of my house. And I'm lazy.
I had wanted my next blog topic to be an indepth analysis/review of "Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith", but I've yet to see it a sixth time (the time I can take notes) and I had a mental block that prevented me from even contemplating a different posting in its place.
But, it's time to fly that train and finally get back into the habit of blogging. So let's start with today's trip to the dermatologist, a trip that prevented me from heading to Chapel Hill and seeing some old Student TV folk who were up from way outta town.
A few months ago I had what I thought was a splinter in my foot between my ring-toe and pinkie-toe. But the splinter never came out, and the small cut grew and grew and in time became more and more annoying as I walked. Fearing it was more than just a splinter, I showed it to my mom, who with her powers of deductive motherly reasoning determined it to be a Planter's Wart (don't ask me, I never heard of them before). So she set up a meeting with a dermatologist in July to take a look at it.
And while I was there, I was to have him check out a dark spot on my chest that appeared in maybe the past six years. I used to joke that it was my "superfluous third nipple", but lately it looks like it's gotten darker and has the faintest feeling of being slightly raised above my skin.
Cut to a few days ago when I get a call telling me the appointment is this week, not next month, effectively cancelling my trip to collegetown. Well I go to the dermatologist's office today at 3:55 (my appointment is at 4), and I wait. And wait. And grumble. And complain (silently of course). I'm there for two hours waiting for my time in the office. And there is NOTHING substantial to read while passing the time away.
What kind of doctor's office has "Parenting", "Southern Living", "Sport Diver", "Dancer SPIRIT", "Dressage Today!", and "Hispanic Business" all over the coffee table in place of "Time", "National Geographic", "Newsweek", and "Entertainment Weekly"?! Are crazy housemothers and horseback riding, sport diving, dancing-latino-entrepreneurs the only people around here with skin problems?
I think not. Last time I checked, I dance horribly, don't have any kids, and dive as well as I ride.
Sigh.
Well, I finally get into the office and see the doctor. He's surprised I'm here alone (maybe he thought I was a young kid?)- "Oh, you're 23? An old man!"
OLD man???
Anyway, he takes a look at my foot. Yep, it's a planter's wart, and he proceeds to spray the thing down with what I assume is liquid nitrogen. Then I take off my shirt and show him the dark spot under my right breast.
Tell me the truth Doc, is it bad? Is it cancer?
"Well, this doesn't look harmful at all," he says casually, peering at it with his light. "In fact, it looks like the beginnings of a false third nipple."
Wait a sec. Scratch that. Back up.
"Did you say third nipple?"
"Yeah, it's harmless"
You gotta be kidding me. After six years of jokingly telling people that I, like Krusty the Klown, had a superfluous third nipple, it turns out to be TRUE?
Who would have guessed? So laugh it up, Fuzzballs!
On the drive home I talk to my friend Laura and tell her the humorous news.
"Uhh, I wouldn't tell that to too many people," she says.
Oops. Well, you guys promise not to point and laugh, right? Don't make me be that guy this summer who wears a t-shirt into the pool.
--Cbake
posted by Cbake at 1:23 AM
1 Comments:
Welcome back new and improved CBake - always knew you were "special." Now get off your lazy duff and start LIVING YOUR LIFE.
"Turn the world over on its side and everything loose will land in Los Angeles." Frank Lloyd Wright (1869-1959).
Hope we'll be seeing you there.
Lizbeth
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