Can I get those Muscle Relaxers and Vicodin to go?

I mentioned yesterday that I had a little back problem. I have had this happen before. Basically, I go to bed with worries on my mind and sleep so restlessly that I pull my back out. Nice. I feel like an old man.

So yesterday afternoon I decided to go to the Doctor. There is a Kelsey-Seybold right around the corner from where I live so I figure why not. I show up for my appointment and am called back to the waiting room where the nurse checks my temperature and blood pressure. I stand on the scale and realize quickly that it is a little off. (That's just my way of saying it appears I am a little heavier on that scale than my own. I like mine better!) No biggie. I am fill out a questionnaire about smoking. It is very odd. I have never had to fill one out before. Then this cute little medical student comes into the room. She asks me why I am there and all the "usual" questions. She kind of flirts with me which on any normal occasion would odd, but after the week I have had it was nice to know I still had it. Ya know. I still have a little game left. She steps out and assures me that she will return with the doctor. This little hottie returns with the doctor and she gives me a check up. Prescribes some Vicodin and Muscle relaxers! Woo hoo! I love party favors when you leave the doctors office (if I am a little random in this post, chalk it up to the Vicodin).

Anyways, the doctor steps out to go to another patient and the medical student walks over and kisses me on the mouth. I have been to the doctor all of my life, but I have NEVER had service like that before! I have to confess! I really, really enjoyed it! As she walked out she announced that she doesn't do that for all of her patients. Which made me feel pretty good.

I have to be honest I had a dichotomy of feelings running through my head. On one side, it was somewhat strange to have The Travel Size One doing a check up on me. I commented to her that it would probably be equally weird for her to see me when I am in front of a client. On the other side, it was pretty sexy to see her in her white coat scribbling out a prescription for me. It's the little things. It really is!

Would someone please kick my dog?

I am not much of a complainer. Most of what people think to be complaining is more my sense of humor being express towards stupidity (either of my own or of someone elses). Sometimes I come across as being pessimistic or even sardonic, but that is just me. I am in fact neither of the two in the quiet. I don't normally complain...

However this week has SUCKED! There have been arguments, reneged promises, and a knot in my back from sleeping restlessly because of the previous two. So my question is "Can someone kick my dog?" That would make the week complete. Now granted I don't have a dog, but if I did that would be the Coups de grace to an otherwise absolutely crummy week! Argh!!!! Tension breaker: had to be done. I don't really feel like going into details. Maybe later.

I'm out.

I almost died this morning...

Actually, I didn't even get injured.

Alright... I was not even in harms way.

Ok! I was frightened and almost soiled myself!

So I was out for a jog this morning and I was on my normal route that I run when I am going 8 miles. If you are not familiar with The City, there are good parts and bad parts (just like any other city I suppose). I live in one of the good parts and have seldom been scared or gun shy when running at 5:00 AM. Along my routes (there are several because they are different distances and it gets boring running the same thing over and over) there are bus stops for the Metro Bus that transfers people from point A to point B all over The City. This morning I was running past one of the bus stops that I pass every time I run this route. When all of a sudden from out of no where this dark wraith appears ready to assail me and send me to meet my maker (actually he was a dark skinned African-American gentleman wearing a nice jacket and tie who smiled at me brightly, but I didn't see him at first and he scared me). I battled him off using all of my cunning and continued my run (I ran off feeling pretty stupid).

As I continued my jaunt in the wee hours of the morning, I came across the second assailant. He attempted to take me out with a flying body throw but I was able to dodge his flailing mass with my cat-like reflexes. Ok reality check. It was another runner and I was in "My World" pondering God knows what when I almost ran into him. I didn't see him at first, and I was running on the wrong side of the track unless you are James Bond when all of a sudden I realize there is a person coming at me. I quickly side step barely missing him and apologizing at the same time (I multitask too).

My third attacker used the Screeching Howl of Death in an attempt to overcome me. My sub-sonic speed kicked in and I was able to out run the sound waves before succumbing to them. In reality this van was turning into a parking lot where I was running on the side walk. He was apparently miffed at the fact that he actually had to slow down and wait for a pedestrian to cross a sidewalk in a manner according to the law. So as I continue my run he yells out of his window "Hey!!" in a startling manner trying to scare me. Well it work! I have actually had people do that to me before. I can't believe people actually get their kicks by scaring runners. This must be some kind of redneck sport. Maybe it will be in the Olympics next time right after curling. I can just see the rules: 1)The yeller must have no more than 6 of his or her own teeth remaining. 2) The jogger must be unsuspecting. 3) If the jogger does not crap him or herself the yeller will be eliminated (These are the things I think about when I run).

Mind you this all happened with in the first three miles of my jog. The last 5 were fairly acrimonious.

The Psychologist, The Redneck, The Hippie, and The Cult Leader: Lessons in First Class Etiquette

Sounds like the beginning of a good joke? Right? If only it were a joke! These were my traveling cohorts for my flight to Tampa.

There is certain a code one must abide by when traveling First Class. As often as I fly and at the odd times when I fly I typically get “bumped up” to First Class so I have become a master of First Class Etiquette. If you happen to fly in what I like to call the Holy of Holies of air transportation (notice that little curtain which separates the Gentiles from The Chosen) follow these guidelines and you won’t err.

1) Act like you never fly anything else.

I walk up to the mass of people huddling around the check in carpet and strike up small talk (“This flight is always late”, “Are you coming or going”, etc.) with the other people waiting to board first. This is where I meet the Psychologist and the Cult Leader. The Psychologist says he is heading home and The Cult Leader proclaims she is headed cross country to her other house. The Cult Leader is standing nearest the entry way (she wanted it known that she was OBVIOUSLY first in line). This elderly couple walks up (well he walked, she rolled) to prepare for early boarding. Regardless if you fly first or not, you will not board first. The people with special needs will be boarding first. At this point the Cult Leader proclaims that she has something better than a wheel chair. She has a First class ticket! If you have a first class ticket there is no need to announce it. People see you get on the plane. They know! This rule also applies to in flight. Don’t make statements like “Wow I have my own phone and T.V. and don’t order a bunch of drinks just because they are complimentary.

2) Don’t tell people your life story. If we wanted a biography we’d buy one in the airport book store (of course we’d pay twice the normal going rate, but that’s another story)

The Hippie and the Redneck were in gross violation of this rule. We are standing in the mass of pre-boarding people and the Redneck walks up and casually says he is a “Yankee” Louisianan because he is from north Louisiana. Now granted he was talking to other people from Louisiana, but the rest of us don’t care. At this point we are about to board and a gentleman who had been waiting to the side walks over and leans up against the divider. The Cult Leader informs him that she is in fact “First in line” and she will “bowl him over” if he thinks he’s cutting (See Rule 3). I think to myself, “Dear Lord this is going to be a LONG flight! I hope I am not sitting next to any of them!” My luck held true. I end up sitting next to the Psychologist, who turned out to be a nice guy. He casually asked The Hippie about his flight arrangements. The Hippie was much more grandiose about his story. He talked about how he was coming back from Bangkok and how much trouble there was to be found in Bangkok. The poor Psychologist looks at me and talks about not being able to listen to his music because the hippie won’t stop talking.

3) Act Civil: Remember you are sitting in First Class. You are better than the plebs in the bourgeois (after all you probably didn’t pay for the seat but got upgraded).

I realized that the Cult Leader was a cult leader when she asked the Psychologist if he needed a dictionary to figure out any of the words in the book he was reading. He of course politely declined (I believe he was reading a Tom Clancy Novel or something to that effect). The Cult Leader then whips a full size dictionary out of her bag of magic potions. My first thought is “Who the hell makes room for a full on Webster’s dictionary”, but I digress. The Cult Leader then explains that she is reading a book about the mind. The Psychologist makes another grievous error asking the Cult Leader if it is Psychology or Neurology. The Cult Leader says neither but in fact she is reading about the “truth”. She then hands the book across the aisle to the Psychologist and he asks her if she is into Scientology. She affirms that she is and that the book is about modern medicines errors of Electro-shock therapy. The Psychologist hands it back to her and says he prefers fiction, adding “not this is non-fiction”. I thought “wow! Score one for the Psychologist”. At this point I put my headphones on and began praying“Dear Lord, make this plane go faster!” and "Please don't allow me to get off the plane with a desire to drink Schlitz Malt Liquor, wear a peace sign, lay on a couch and bare my soul, or call this lady Mother."

Unfortunately on my way back from Tampa I didn't get the "Bump". I sat on the run way for an hour and a half next to two people who were not nearly far enough away from each other on the family tree to be married to one another.