Violation of Blog Etiquette

I've been told that blog etiquette dictates that entries should be no more than a couple of paragraphs or people won't read them.

So - I want to say two things.

First, I hereby apologize for my last three Quasimoto entries as they have exceed the "couple of paragraphs" maximum.

Second, I extend my thanks to those who did read them. Experiences like the ones I wrote about are best when shared with people who will laugh at you.

I'm sure that Quasimoto's twin sister will return. And when she does, the long blog posts will return with her.

Confidence booster for Quasimoto - part 2

So I'm still sitting in the lab waiting room. I've just shut down the mean old lady (see previous entry for details on the mean old lady) - my mood has not improved and my appearance has gotten worse (not that it matters because people can't really see me through the green fog that surrounds me anyway).

And there he is. Just sitting there, staring at me. I stare back at him with my one good eye. I can hear the theme song from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly playing in my head.

He says to me, "Hey, how ya doin'?"

Crap. Just kill me now.

Hoping to end this "conversation," I grunt some inaudible response in his general direction. Sadly, it did not work.

He continues his staring contest with me and says, "Wow, it's really crowded in here huh?" Keen observation, Sherlock...

Again, hoping to end this "conversation," I grunt some inaudible response in his general direction. And again, it failed miserably.

He slides over a chair so he's a little closer to me.

Crap.

He says, "What are you here for?"

I'm sorry, what? Did he really just ask me that? I want to tell him that I'm there because I have this uncontrollable urge to kill people that irritate me - and the doctors are trying to see if there's anything that can be done to treat it. But I don't. I look over at the mean old lady who is as engrossed in this conversation as I am. She continues to stare at me with an expression of pity and disgust. I look back at the guy without saying anything.

I start twitching ever so slightly, hoping that it will freak him out and he'll quit talking to me. My attempt at creeping him out failed.

And then he says it - I'm not even lying - he totally said this. "So..... You come here often?"

Dude. Are you kidding me?

I start looking around the room for the Candid Camera crew because this just cannot be happening. I've gone my entire life without someone picking up on me - and it happens now in a lab where people are having tests done for heaven only knows what?!

I look at him through the green fog. He's just staring at me with this stupid look on his face, waiting for me to respond.

I say, "I'm sorry, I forgot the question."

He says, "Do you come here often?"

I say, "No.... but I'll bet that you do... don't you..."

He says, "Yeah! How did you know that?"

Mercifully, my name was called and I left Cassanova sitting alone, wondering in awe about my psychic abilities.

Confidence booster for Quasimoto - part 1

So I make my way from the doctor's office to the lab. I'm still walking like I'm drunk (see previous entry for more info) my left foot dragging behind me like a overstuffed sack of laundry. With every step my mouth breathing becomes more labored and the green fog more potent. The string of drool protruding from the left corner of my mouth has found lasting companionship with the string of drool now protruding from the right corner of my mouth in addition to the white string of gooey spit connecting my top lip to my bottom one. I'm almost to the lab. The hallway looks distorted - like the reflection in a carnival mirror. The door to the lab seems to be very far away - and the floor seems to be curving downward. Mouth breathing becomes more laborious. I finally arrive.

I open the door and am greeted by about 25 pairs of eyes that all register the same reaction: "Holy cow that is one nasty-sick-looking woman." There are no empty chairs. People are standing along the walls and sitting on the floor. The television is blaring one of those stupid waiting room infomercials about the importance of using Applesauce in your brownies recipe instead of cooking oil.

As I'm signing in someone is called to the back - vacating a chair. I plop down in it without a second thought to the people who arrived before I did and were standing against the wall or sitting on the floor. All 25 pairs of eyes shot me some stink-eye, but my cloud of green fog protected me like a suit of armor and no one said anything to me. The people sitting to my right and left scooted as far away from me as they could witout becoming lap-sitters on the people sitting next to them.

There was an older lady sitting across the waiting room from me. She was staring at me. I stared back at her with my one good eye (the other one had sunken all the way back in my head and now had a white film over it).

She says to me "I know you." I'm thinking, "No you don't, lady." She asks me if we worked together before. I should have just said "Yeah - we used to work together but I quit that job because I didn't like you." But I just said "no." She lowered her chin to her chest and kept staring at me over the top of her glasses. She asked me if go to First Christian. I said, "yeah." She says, "Oh you sing there don't you!" uh-huh... She says, "I didn't recognize you." I'm thinking "Thank the Lord you didn't recognize me; I'd like to think I don't normally look like Quasimoto." I continue to stare at her with my one good eye and wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. I say nothing. She continues with the stare-down. After about 60 seconds of just staring at me she sniffs and says "I see you got your sick face on."

Nice.

Of course, at this point, there are a multitude of things that I could say to her: Yeah I look like this because I'm sick, what's your excuse; At least my face will get better once I feel better which is more than I can say for yours - you get the idea. But I don't. I grunt at her and turn my head as if to end the conversation. Then I see him. Another confidence booster in the works.

More to come...

Open casting call for the role of Quasimoto - genuine likeness is preferred

Last week at this time...

So I'm sitting in the waiting room at the doctor's office.

I'm sick.

Nasty business. I mean - naaaasty. Eyes are all sunken in, face is all gray, hair is stringy, my shirt has sweat splotches on it from the fever. I'm walking like I'm drunk - my balance is all out of whack so I'm partially bent over to keep from falling. I'm breathing with my mouth open, making a gutteral sound (much like a coffee pot just as it finishes brewing) ; when I blink my eyes, they make a scrathching sound like sandpaper rubbing against more sandpaper; every time I exhale I'm engulfed in a green fog and the wallpaper begins peeling off the walls. I'm pretty sure that there's a line of drool protruding from the left corner of my mouth.

But I'm okay with it because I'm at the doctor. Everyone there is sick too, right? That means that they look like crap too. That's the rule.

Yeah.

So I'm slouched over in my chair in the waiting room. I hear the door open several times but I don't look up because I don't want to make eye contact with anyone. Then my name is called. I get out of the chair with a groan and stand up (half way). At that point I survey the room to take comfort in the fact that everyone else in the waiting room must look just as sick as I do.

Oh dear.

My doctor deals primarily in Sports Medicine - perhaps you see where my story is going. Yeah. No one in that waiting room was sick No sunken in eyes, no gray faces, no mouth breathers, no sweat splotches, no one walking like they just failed a field sobriety test, no stringy hair, no green fog (except that which was coming from me), no drool strings or gutteral sounds. They were all athletes who were there for sports injuries.

Sigh....

After the doctor saw me, he sent me to the lab to have some tests done. Little did I know what "confidence booster" awaited me there.

More to come...

A long week...

In 4 days: three trips to the doctor, two trips to the lab for tests, two trips to the pharmacy.

Sick mommy, sick two year old.

Gross.

First Day - Last Day

It's hard to believe Hope is a first grader now... Here she is on her first day and her last day of Kindergarten.

The Law Returns to A&E

Dog returns in July.

The show is so awesome.

I seriously cannot wait.

Re-runs to commence on June 25, 2008.

Punk is the new Pink

Hope attended a birthday party for her friend Emma last weekend and has decided that Punk is her look of choice. Oh, and she also wants to be a rockstar.

I know that I'm kind of biased, but I think my daughter is so cool.

When she was a baby, she would make her "Cute-Face;" Now it's "Where's-My-Decaf-Red-Bull-Angry-Diva-Face."

My girl.... so awesome.

Looking forward to Jim Caviezel's interview this weekend.

Bruce will probably take a different approach with the interview, but this one is quite entertaining.