Blahbity Blah Blah Ugh Ft. Picklebitch Zebratard

You like that headline? I thought it had a nice ring to it.

This is one of those nights where at least half of my brain tries to order me not to post anything. What’s left of is says, “Fuck it. Bitch needs release.” So yeah. Here I am.

For myriad reasons, today is a moody hate the world trying not to cry day. And I woke up that way. It didn’t help that I had a doctor appointment first thing this morning, one which I was not looking forward to. I mean nothing major was on the docket. Unless you consider blood work major. I don’t. But I didn’t feel that the visit went well – this particular doctor never agrees with me on what I need. And here’s the deal – I’m not one of those pushy types. In fact, I’m far too passive with doctors and my own healthcare. So when I actually work up the will or the nerve to voice concern or needs in a visit, it’s because I feel something is serious enough to follow up on. It’s an incredibly rare thing for me to do.

Yeah. I hate doctors. I really do. Before you berate me, I know there are heaps of fine doctors out there. Problem is, I’ve never met one of them. And probably couldn’t afford them if I did.

Y’all, I’m so grumpy and mangry I could punch a puppy. (Not really. Calm down. I would cuddle the everlovingshit out of it while dissolving into a blubbering heap of tears.) But yeah, I could totally punch a puppy right now. And then I would eat it. Because I’m famished. Damnit. Somebody cheer me up.

So how about a funny? Except it wasn’t funny. It was weird and gross as fuck.

After finishing my visit with the doctor this morning, I had to return to the waiting room to wait my turn for labwork. The waiting room was packed. Absolutely packed. I took one of the only remaining seats in the room, which just so happened to be the third worst spot in the room.

I’m sitting there, biding my time thumbing through Cosmos. I say “thumbing through” because I couldn’t focus worth a damn. It was noisy and stinky and I didn’t feel well. I don’t read well in crowded areas. Wait, what? WHAT IN GOD’S NAME IS THAT SMELL? Seriously, what the everlovingfuck is that? Oh my god, something crawled up both nostrils and died, just subsequent to releasing a horrid stinktoxin straight to my brain.

I lift my gaze, trying to be all covert. (I hate when people stare at me in situations like that. Hell in any situation. But you now what I mean. The dreaded Waiting Room Stare. It’s so entitled and invasive, and it pisses me right off.) So yeah, there I am being all covert-y, peering up under my lashes without raising my chin. AND THERE IT IS. The source of my nasal damnation. The inspiration for the Bog of Eternal Stench. Directly in front of me sat this woman, clad in this full-body zebra-print unitard thingy. Oh but the zebratard was an absolulte delight compared to what she held in her hand. Which, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, was a pickle. A MOTHERFUCKING PICKLE.

Someone PLEASE tell me who brings a motherfucking pickle to the doctor’s office? And then commences eating that stinking son of a bitch right there in the waiting room? The only saving grace for me was that I was NOT one of the two people flanking her. I wouldn’t be talking to you here, now, that’s for sure. Because I would have died on the spot. Just dropped dead.

A pickle. I shit you not.

Crazy bitch. But I do wish I had the nerve she did. That girl just didn’t give a damn what I or anyone else thought. Zebra-print unitard indeed. But that fucking pickle. That was too far.