At the Doctors

I went to see if I needed my Hepatitus shots for Egypt. I got tested to see if I was still immune. I got congrazted on not having hepatitus, but I’m also not immune.

Doc – Didn’t you go to school in Manitoba? We usually immunize kids when they’re in Grade 9 and they should last 10 years.

Me – Yes…I graduated 11 years ago. (Wait! This means I look young, right?)

(Note – My actual Dr is on vacation, this is my substitute Dr.)

Doc – Why was all the fancy blood work ordered?

Me – At my appointment I had told him I had been applying to go to Afghanistan.

Doc – *stops typing and looks at me* You are stupid.

-longish pause-

Doc – If you go there, you need Typhoid, Diptheria,Ecoli something or other. And you’re allowed to eat toast and boiled water. I wouldn’t even trust their rice. It’s probably boiled in pigshit. (But pig farming I don’t imagine would be very popular in a Muslim country?)

Anyways, long story short, my doctor thinks I’m stupid and each shot is 85 DOLLARS! Next trip if I need a shot, I’m just going to go on thinking that I’m invincible…and also too broke.

(I just google imaged “rice in pig shit” and I got pictures of naked men and jackfruit. But I accidentally closed the window before saving any…and I’m too lazy to try again.)

 

Almost Thirty

You know how people are always like…”wa wa and then I turned thirty and my tits dropped to my knees!”

I always thought they were silly bitches. But…I think there might be something to this.

I have 2 months to go…and I thought my chub would help keep everything in place. 

But now when I take my bra off, it looks like everything is straining to touch my toes.

Do not want.

Rejoice Baby Jesus!

I love Christmas! It’s full of family drama, depression, alcohol and death.

If it’s not an uncle being hurried to the emergency room with an anus that won’t stop pouring blood. It’s an aunt who goes diabetes blind 4 days before Christmas day and refuses to go to the hospital unti after all the family dinners are done!

A family drag queen died, there weren’t tears, but that’s just because she was fabulous and the wailing will be saved for the party at the gay bar when there is the memorial.

On the brightside, my Gramma ignored me and couldn’t point out my faults over dinner because her favorite grandchild has gotten really fat and has turned out to be a disappointing mother who doesn’t take responsibility for anything including her child.

The holidays are over!

Rejoice rejoice baby Jesus!