Stupid Stuff in My Head

I have a lot of stupid conversations, and some of them occur exclusively in my brain. I think I've gotten through most of my life on laughter, because if I don't laugh, I might just cry. I'm not too big on crying, because it makes my makeup run and just makes me feel like shit. So I don't cry a whole lot, but I try to laugh my way through most of my days. I think this is what's built up my emotional resiliency, or something like that. Here's some of the stupid stuff that went through my brain today.

Jimmy covers. I had a conversation at work today and was quite amazed that people don't know what jimmy covers are. I think this might just be the defining term that separates 30-somethings from 40-somethings, because I thought this was a pretty common term, but apparently it's not for people in the 40 and up category. This conversation came about when a large shipment of jimmy covers arrived at work and a few of us spent 30 minutes de-boxing them (ha ha) and ripping them apart to be handed out to the eager masses. I even came across a non-lubed box and ripped one open and blew it up, because everyone should have an inflated jimmy cover bobbing across the floor of their office. And for real, you can only do this with the non-lubed ones. No one wants spermicide in their mouth. Blech. And this conversation led to...

craigslist. A few of my co-workers involved in the jimmy covers conversation have been privy to my emailing links of pics I have found on craigslist. I only do this to two of my freak girlfriends, because I don't want to disrespect anyone's marriage or anything, but some of these pictures are too hilarious/unbelievable not to share. I can't for the life of me figure out why some of these men on craigslist haven't just gone right into porn. I mean, you've already listed yourself on the casual encounters section, which kind of proves that you're ready to have sex with a total stranger. If this were something where I could post adult pictures, I came across the best one ever tonight, which would be a circus quality penis. My god. This poor guy, no wonder he can't hook up. I'll leave you to wonder which end of the scale it was on. But yeah, that one got emailed, too.

My extra rib. I have an extra rib. I didn't know this until about two years or so ago, and that was only after I had conned my way into a third doctor's office to check out this lump on my chest. When I first found it, I immediately had a heart attack and knew that I was going to die from breast cancer in less than six months. Have I mentioned in previous posts that my father died from cancer exactly three and a half weeks after his initial diagnosis? So anything that's wrong with me, I immediately think it's cancer and go rushing off to the doctor and manipulate some kind of testing. You never know. So I found this lump on my chest, kind of in between my collarbone and my breast, and I of course immediately assume the worst. It's breast cancer, I've got bad genes and I'm the one who is going to introduce this bad mutated gene to all of my female descendants, because breast cancer does not run in my family. It makes sense though, because somewhere, someone had bad genes and it's mutated and now look where we are with breast cancer. Rush off to the gynecologist, and see a guy at my practice who is fresh out of his residency. We have a lovely conversation about the local schools while he's alternately feeling up my breasts and has another hand up in me, and he says it's not breast cancer, it's too high up on my chest. It's some kind of fatty tumor that women get. But then he tells me that he and his wife live in the Fan and are sending their children to city schools - by choice. Okay, this man is obviously stupid and doesn't know shit about anything if he's opting to send his children to city schools. Who does that? So I rush off to my general practitioner, who I've been seeing for almost fifteen years. He feels me up and tells me that I have an extra rib. Huh? Oh, wait, I forgot. This jackass is from Canada. He doesn't know shit, either. So then I take a break and regroup. I just need a tiebreaker at this point. That's all I need - a third doctor who can tell me if this is a fatty tumor (which feels really hard) or if this is an extra rib.  Off to Norfolk to manipulate my way into see my daughter's plastic surgeon, because he's one of the best pediatric plastic surgeons in the country. I get a couple of questionable moles removed, and oh, by the way, what's this lump here? Well, damn, it is an extra rib. The old Canuck was right all along.

And that leads me to recycling. I'm not into recycling. Some women in my office have answered the call of Greenpeace or whomever it is and have decided to start recycling, and have placed these recycling bins all over the office. But when the bins get full, they just pile up the trash in our storage room to the point that it looks like a dump. Really. I hate that this recycling stuff only gets taken out once a month. It's stupid. Either commit to something or don't. Take the freaking recycling somewhere once a week or let's just throw the shit in the trash. I mean, trash isn't that bad. Hellooooo, Mt. Trashmore. So every now and then, just to be a complete bitch, I very surreptitiously throw old food right down into the recycling bin and force the recycling to become trash. I like to consider myself a recycling saboteur. I've discovered that if I cover the old food up with more recycling shit, then the women who move the recycling stuff to the storage room don't realize that in about 4.576 days, it will start to stink. And the smell will worsen. And people will complain. And that, in turn, will force these women to not wait for a whole month to remove the recycling out of the office. And I will have won.

Which leads me to organ and blood donations. I have decided that this is just a higher form of recycling. I'm sure I'm going to offend someone out there, but oh well. We don't do blood drives at my current office, but we did at my last office. I would inevitably get asked if I would donate blood on such and such day, and I get a cookie out of the whole deal. Uh, how about some wine and porn? That would make the whole process a little more pleasant for me, for one. Hell, you can have some plasma, if you pull out some vintage shit. Vintage wine or vintage porn, either of the two would be fine with me. Anyway, I would always kind of cock back in my chair and say something really stupid (but with all seriousness) to the effect of, "I kind of question the practicality of donating something that I'm still using." Or, if they argued, I would think kick it up a notch. "Ethically, I'm still on the fence about recycling bodily fluids." At this point, I would either get a disgusted or confused look and they would drift away. I win again. And yeah, I'm still on the fence about the whole donating organs thing, too. Remember my earlier post about how modern medicine is fucking up natural selection? This plays into it. Other than a family member, specifically one of my children, I'm not so sure about the whole organ donation thing. I'm still using them. And when I'm not using them, I might just want for my body to go out like it came in. Which would be intact. But I'm still debating this one

Maybe or maybe not up soon: my grandfather, the sometime pig farmer, and stolen library books.