Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Science march

March log: We've been to the march immediately following the election in November, the Women's march, the Immigration march, the Planned Parenthood march, the Tax March, now the Science march, and next week the Climate march. And then, no marches? No protests? How is that possible?

We were marching next to an older woman, and she was discussing the difference between marches today and marches in the past. First, there's not as much smoking as in the past, and second, people smell better.

We, again, had no sign. What we had was Hal the skeleton.

I was surprised by the number of people who asked me why I had a skeleton perched on my shoulders. (Anatomy! It's a science!)

We realized too late we should have knitted a teeny pink pussy hat for Hal.

A New Alanis Game

Gary and I were in the car yesterday, and we popped Jagged Little Pill in to the CD player.

When I sing along with Alanis Morissette I always find myself caterwauling to excess. ("And you say, how-we-ow-we-ow apprrrrroooooprrrrrrrrrr-eeee-iate.") So, I was doing that.

Earlier, Gary had been doing some drive-yelling and swiched to Henrietta Pussycat mode, so he was meowing.

The two morphed into a new game. You sing along with Alanis, but you replace all the words with a meow. (A one syllable "meow." More like "Myow.") So, "I want you to know" Becomes "Myow. Myow. Myow myow myow." Then in the more emotional parts you do actual caterwauling. "And I'm here, to remind you" becomes "Mroooow mreee mROOW, mew MrOOOW MAAAAAAA=aaaa-ooooooOW."

We call it Alanis Meowrissette.

Bullets

Sometimes you do so much and blog so little there's nothing to do but make bullets.

• The bladder infection has run its course and I am well now. I am also five pounds fatter, which is sad because last month I lost five pounds. Gary thinks it's muscle, but I know what a five pound chuck roast looks like, and my bulges are not chuck-roast-sized.
•  We took a day to visit downtown on the day the Arch grounds re-opened.
  • I was expecting the wedge they built over the highway to be complete by now, and it is not.
• We visited the old courthouse.
  • We saw one of the Park Rangers from the courthouse by the arch. He explained that he had to leave his courthouse duty because his superior wanted more "hats on the ground." "Hats on the ground!" Is our new call to action.  
  • The ceiling of civic court four is stunning. Clearly they made a poor decision on Dredd Scott because the ceiling made them vain and worldly.
  • There are many locked doors at the old courthouse. Gary tried every one.
• We attended the Tax March.
  • The march was greatly enhanced by the brass band marching with us. They made the event. 
  • The damn giraffe gave birth during the pre-March rally, so that was celebratory too. I was sad the calf was not a girl, and as such can not be named Patience.

 

 

A New Name

Well, there is some good that came out of the bladder infection that arose after the last post.

First, Gary no longer feels that his dirty, dirty organ is causing the bladder infections, given that a fresh-from-the-box silicone toy cocked everything up this time. He's now blaming my dirty, dirty bladder, and even says the MS nerves are to blame for not voiding that puddle of stagnant pee.

Second, when I finally landed in the ER last night, the staff said that "prescribing" myself my six-year-old antibiotics was a good call. I was astonished. I fully anticipated a lecture about expired drugs, and not taking a full course, and did you go to medical school. Not so. Not a bad idea, they said. Of course, it only bought me a few days. When the infection rose again I was willing to gut it out until I saw the actual flecks of bloody flesh accumulating in the commode.

Thats what got me the nickname. I heard the nursing station say the words "pink pee" a few times. "Pink pee!" I thought, "I bet that's my pee!" Because it was a lovlely shade of magnolia pink, like an eighties carpet. Then I realized Pink Pee was me. "Chest Pain is waiting on his labs, Pink Pee's resting comfortably."

I kind of like that level of familiarity now. Just this morning at my mammogram (it was a day bookended by hospital visits), the nurse took hold of my breast and tugged on it to move me over a half step. It made me laugh. A few years ago I would have found that degrading. Now I have no airs. My breast is a meat handle; I am Pink Pee.

First

My great grandmother was the first person killed by an automobile in Marion Ohio. And so it began: technology tasted blood, and our blood was the tastiest.

Technology has not killed me, but I think I am the first person ... well, on my block at least ... to develop a remote-controlled bladder infection.

And, yes, I got this bladder infection the same way I get all my bladder infections: something inside my vagina aggravating the fetid puddle of pee that pools in the bottom of my bladder. 

As you have surmised, Gary bought "us" a remote-controlled app-driven vibrator. (This one right here,) It combines his love of his iPad with his love for me, and his need to give me bladder infections - even without laying a finger on me, this time. (He just used his finger to control the device by scribbling on the iPad. The power!)

Come to think of it, he didn't touch me OR even look at me, since he was invested in the software. His nerdiness excites me. Since the narrow pink antenna visibly ... protrudes, I came over and slapped him in the face with the antenna a few times.

This how it shall be in my future. No touching, no looking? No problem.

By the way, I know, I know, similar devices are sending private usage information back to their motherships and plotting with the microwave. And of course, if anyone tried to "hi-jack" it they'd have to do it while it was turned on and Gary and I were using it. We'd just write it off to Roomba wireless interference or the Tivo or any other wiretapping device we have. Actually, given our computer backgrounds we'd have more fun debugging it.

Edited to add: I got out of bed later and found Hal the skeleton greeting me.

Edited to add: Mr. Skeleton (Not Safe for Work) got more sweet words than I got.
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