This was my first posted rambling, from October of 2006. Paul still brings this up from time to time.
My latest display of stupidity is so good that Paul wants to tell everyone about it...I figure if I can beat him to that then it won't be so fun for him and he'll stop.
Let me preface this by telling you that on Monday I went to the dermatologist for a follow up appointment for dry skin on my foot. I thought I was getting a new lotion or something...she had different ideas. After looking at my foot and asking a few questions the doctor left the room and came back with a set of surgical tools and told me that she was just going to do a small biopsy to see what was really going on. Goodie.
A "small" biopsy meant her using a fucking hole punk and taking a piece of my foot about a quarter inch wide and a quarter inch DEEP INTO THE SIDE/SOLE OF MY DELICATE LITTLE FOOT. A "small" biopsy also required STITCHES to close it up so that I didn't bleed out from this assault to my body. Sweet.
As I left I asked her what to do about the pain, which I was anticipating would be significant. She smiled and said Tylenol would take care of it. Turns out that was nothing less than bullshit.
So, with my mad pharmacy skills, I put together a concoction of drugs and herbs that acted a lot like vicodin for pain relief and apparently took what little common sense I had with it.
I told you that story to tell you this one. I was at home today, wasted on my home made vicodin when someone knocked on my door. I open the door to a young woman selling magazines. I will wait for you to stop laughing at what you think comes next...it does.
After hearing her story about growing up in a rough neighborhood and battling her own drug addiction (anyone see Office Space?? Wanna buy a subscription to Vibe??) she told me about the program that is allowing her to turn it all around, with the help of nice people like me. NICE PEOPLE LIKE ME ARE ALL SHE HAS YOU GUYS. Wow. She was good. So I bought a couple of magazines.
That wouldn't be so bad, except a couple of magazines ended up costing $280. Yes, I typed two hundred and eighty dollars. I was loaded, remember that, please.
Enter Paul, home from work and going through the receipts for my purchases (he does this every day) As I tried to explain the magazines, they were both for him by the way, he just laughed his ass off, took away my drugs and told me I am not allowed to answer the door ever again.
So my plea to you is this...when he starts to tell you this story, please tell him you don't find it funny. Even though I am sure you do...
My latest display of stupidity is so good that Paul wants to tell everyone about it...I figure if I can beat him to that then it won't be so fun for him and he'll stop.
Let me preface this by telling you that on Monday I went to the dermatologist for a follow up appointment for dry skin on my foot. I thought I was getting a new lotion or something...she had different ideas. After looking at my foot and asking a few questions the doctor left the room and came back with a set of surgical tools and told me that she was just going to do a small biopsy to see what was really going on. Goodie.
A "small" biopsy meant her using a fucking hole punk and taking a piece of my foot about a quarter inch wide and a quarter inch DEEP INTO THE SIDE/SOLE OF MY DELICATE LITTLE FOOT. A "small" biopsy also required STITCHES to close it up so that I didn't bleed out from this assault to my body. Sweet.
As I left I asked her what to do about the pain, which I was anticipating would be significant. She smiled and said Tylenol would take care of it. Turns out that was nothing less than bullshit.
So, with my mad pharmacy skills, I put together a concoction of drugs and herbs that acted a lot like vicodin for pain relief and apparently took what little common sense I had with it.
I told you that story to tell you this one. I was at home today, wasted on my home made vicodin when someone knocked on my door. I open the door to a young woman selling magazines. I will wait for you to stop laughing at what you think comes next...it does.
After hearing her story about growing up in a rough neighborhood and battling her own drug addiction (anyone see Office Space?? Wanna buy a subscription to Vibe??) she told me about the program that is allowing her to turn it all around, with the help of nice people like me. NICE PEOPLE LIKE ME ARE ALL SHE HAS YOU GUYS. Wow. She was good. So I bought a couple of magazines.
That wouldn't be so bad, except a couple of magazines ended up costing $280. Yes, I typed two hundred and eighty dollars. I was loaded, remember that, please.
Enter Paul, home from work and going through the receipts for my purchases (he does this every day) As I tried to explain the magazines, they were both for him by the way, he just laughed his ass off, took away my drugs and told me I am not allowed to answer the door ever again.
So my plea to you is this...when he starts to tell you this story, please tell him you don't find it funny. Even though I am sure you do...
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