Tilt-Shifted:

Close-up Picture after the Cut.

This may come as a shock but sometimes, I am annoying.  Like, really annoying.  That is exactly how I seemed when I bounced into her place, big grin on and camera ready to rock and roll.  Except, did you know this …?  that being the person who is going to get the endoscopy is actually a lot less fun than being the person who gets to stare at the inside of a stomach?

Me:  “Do you think they’ll let me in with you? Do you think they’ll let me film it?”

Besos:  “NO AND NO.”

Me:  “I think if you consent, maybe I can watch.”

Besos:  “We’ll see.”

Me:  “Do you think they’ll let me film it?”

Besos: “NO.  I am telling you NO.  You can not film it. I am saying NO.”

Me:  *Sad Trombone Sound*

Guess what?  They didn’t let me in.   Otherwise, I could be showing you a picture of the inside of a Besostomach.  I know! Bogus, right?

So, that was Wednesday.  My day for the hospital came last night.Here’s a quick timeline.

Sunday evening, as I brushed my teeth before bed, I noticed that on each eyelid, I had a red, raised/swollen area.  It was definitely odd but I did not think too much of it.  I took Benedryl and went to bed.  The next morning, my eyelids had swollen so much, I could not open my eyes completely.  The swelling eventually went away and so I didn’t think too much of it.

I ate dinner and sat down to do some work.  That’s when I started to itch a little.  I noticed on the inside of my left wrist that some odd red patches had sprouted.  Then on my right wrist.  It happened so fast, I could practically watch them develop.  Next, the hives creeped down the back of my forearms – both of them.

So, naturally, I pulled down my pants.

and I had hives only on my knees.  No where else.  Then… I noticed them all over the left side of my waist – but not the right.  I snapped a picture and sent it to my sister and exlained.  She ordered me to the doctor, concerned that my throat might swell.

Urgent care center is in an ER by me so off I went, Besos planning to meet me there.

Okay, so, this is when I’m grateful to be an attorney and not a doctor. I can’t even explain the weird scene so I will sum it up.

Sitting in triage with a dude who, apparently, just got jumped and beaten with a pipe or something.  Cops around him. He refuses to tell them who did it.  The cop is unamused and reminds him that it is just like last time, when he was stabbed and couldn’t remember who did it to him.  He has many friends who keep wandering into triage to see him.  I warn Besos that when someone comes into triage to finish him off, we will be running the other way.  Eventually I’m behind a curtain in the ER and this jackass is in the room right across from me.  The doctors and kicking everyone out of his room – meanwhile, Besos is sending me text messages from the waiting area telling me that his friends are also being kicked out of the hospital.

I wanted to see some kind of throw-down but nothing happened.

Oh yeah, my hives?  The doctors were sort of stumped.  We came to the conclusion that it may have been an allergic reaction to…. oven cleaner.

I’ve lived here 5 years and never cleaned my oven before.  I decided to try it over the weekend.  They suspect it caused my eyelids to swell.  Then I roasted a chicken in the oven – and guess what? That’s what I ate for dinner last night, thereby seemingly introducing some fragments of Easy-Off that may have worked its way into the chicken into my body – hence, body hive break-out.

So, yeah, anyway…that’s the story.  I’m hoping tonight is dull.

Except, she didn’t really mean literally.

She meant, “but not for reals, yo.”

Do people know what this word means?  It’s like adding on, “I means it!” to stuff. It’s supposed to mean that what you just said was FOR SERIOUS.

It’s a fantastic ONE word that captures the concept that the actual meaning of the words you spoke should be taken at complete face value as the truth.  How wonderful that there is a single word to even describe such a concept!  You don’t have to say, “I’m serious.  I meant the meaning of each and every one of those words and the statement I just made is completely true.”

You don’t have to do that! There’s a word for it! It is:  literally

What a brilliant language.

Here.  Let’s ruin it.

Literally.

2.  I see a dude on my way to work often and his head is just too small for his body.  I think I’ve even written about this before.  It isn’t vastly too small; it’s just slightly too small for his body.  Just enough for me to notice from the corner of my vision.  As if this weren’t enough, the guy wears those Transition lenses and so his glasses are that odd tinted color on very sunny days.  I mean, that all just makes for an odd package, right?

3.  I got into a minor confrontation on Sunday.  I was standing along the street in Chinatown with Besos and another friend waiting for Sitcom and her boyfriend when we were approached by an apparently homeless man who said something about helping him get a bowl of soup.

Now, if you know me at all, you know that I actually have a bit of a soft spot when it comes to this – at times.  This, however, was not one of those times.

I said, “No.”  He stood there and said something like, “Hey…I’m just asking for…” with a slight asshole tone.

And I said, “NO. Keep moving.”

He got a little aggressive and said, “YOU keep moving.”

I said, “I was standing here. You were moving. So I can’t keep moving.”

It went on a little longer after that.  Then at some point, you realize that you’re having a perfectly ridiculous conversation with a crazy person.  I’m not sure which one of us realized this first.  But he moved on.

4.  I’m over watching Hoarders. Every episode is the same.  And now, even with intervention, some part of cheers when the addicted person is like, “Hell no, I’m not going.”  And then doesn’t go to treatment!  Balls out.  I realize that is all kinds of wrong.  But there you have it.

5.  Speaking of balls out, Instigator is all kinds of balls out at work lately.  She has no problem saying to the powers that be, “You suck!”  Churro and I decided she has the biggest balls in the office.  She bought me lunch yesterday.  She made a point to suggest I mention this because I have previously mentioned taking her to lunch and she did not appreciate sounding like a kept woman.  I could have reassured her by noting that no one would be under that impression simply due to the tracks she was leaving behind her… from her balls dragging on the ground.

But I didn’t.

I made it an hour in before I had turn it off.

First of all – that brown haired duded who plays the native american friend of the main chick – whatshername (WHN).  That guy is as good an actor as John Goodman – which is to say: not at all.  And he’s dating Taylor Swift, right?  I don’t listen to country music but she seems quite nice and I’m sure they are quite nice together (if they still are together) but my first thought upon seeing him was that if he and Taylor Swift had kids, the kids might end up tan or pale, brunette or blond – but one thing was for sure.

They’d have some momofuku squinty-ass eyes.

Okay, next.

This kid who is a vampire.  This kid looks like some one frying panned him in the face.  By that, I mean that he has an unusually flat face.  I mean, he really has quite the melon on that neck and sometimes, I’m surprised he doesn’t topple forward but what the hell do I know – maybe he has and that’s why he’s flatfaced?

Then I gather that WHN figures out that FlatFace is a vampire and he says that she should see him for what he really is – out in the sunlight.  So NOW I started to pay attention because I was thinking that this was going to be like when the mask gets ripped off the Phantom or the burlap sack gets lifted off the Elephant man.  Flatface is all, “Wait until you see WHO I REALLY AM. You will be SO SCARED.”

And then the jackass steps into some sunlight and…

he sparkles.

Like a kindergarten art project.  Like…all glittery.

WTF?

For real?  That’s *IT*?

No skin blistering?  No blood red eyes?  No blood curdling scream from the girl?  He just sparkles like someone dipped him in glue and he rolled around in glitter? What the HELL?

And that’s when I turned it off.

My father was in the army and was stationed overseas. He met my mother through a friend.  They were married on an army base.

That’s the short and sweet of it.  I thought of it recently because it occurred to me that everyone in my family seems drawn to someone of a different ethnic background.  If you take either of my parents, my sister or me – each of us is married to (or, in my case, dating) someone with a different first language.

I attribute this to the fact that in order for anyone to tolerate dating someone in the family, he or she needs to have the option of chalking up half of the crap that comes out of our mouths to a “lost in translation” type of misunderstanding.  Because not only are the first languages different from our own – none of them are alike.

We like DIFFERENT.

So, I’m curious… How did your parents meet? Are they pretty alike? or different?

I will finish paying off my six-figure student-momofuku-loans.  At that point… I will be 100% debt free.  No credit card debt, no mortgage, no car payment, and most importantly… NO STUDENT LOANS.

And you know what?

I’d like a goddamn letter.

I got a really nice letter when I got into Notre Dame.  And then Law School.  Really nice letters that congratulated me on my opportunity to attend their fine institution and thereby create a black hole of debt that amounted to a small mortgage for a home inside my head that not only provides no shelter but also punishes me for any ability to pay it off by not cutting me a tax break.

It doesn’t have to be fancy.  Just a short and sweet letter that says something like, “Wow.  We didn’t think it could be done.  I mean, we chalk most of you six figure kids up to Default or Die.  But you managed to do it.  Good job!” or even, “Congratulations!  You’re free.”

Something.

I was feeling pretty kick ass about not having any debt until I realized I also don’t own a bloody thing, either. Well, I haven’t bought a condo.  I have a car and a decent amount of savings.  I just looked around my place and came eye to eye with Little Filthy.  I looked at him and he looked back at me.  And then he jumped on me and licked my face.

Okay, I own a monster, too.

Life is good!

Now, look, I don’t abuse the horn.  I don’t honk for no darn reason.  I honk for specific reasons.  The primary one is to say, “Pay attention.”

I wouldn’t honk at a taxi that was dropping people off in front of me.  I figure the people know that cars are waiting and, as a result, will move their ass with some speed.  Of course, if there appears to be some dilly dally bullshit going on, I might honk as if to say, “You stupid tourist, did you not know you’d have to pay the taxi when the ride was over? Keep an eye on the meter and have your money ready so that you can get your ass moving when the taxi stops.”   Yes. I can say all that with the mere honk of my horn.

Also, I will honk at a pedestrian on special occasions.  Like, for instance, if I have a green left turn arrow and you decide to cross the street because you think you have priority, I may honk at you.  And if you drop your groceries in shock, I will feel badly for a second but then will feel better when I drive over your oranges – but then angry again when I realize I’m dragging your now empty gallon milk jug under my car.

Okay, I may not be that bad.  It’s just that I don’t really consider it really driving unless I honk my horn. Once, a past girlfriend of mine was driving down the street and when someone cut her off, I took it upon myself to lean over and honk the horn for her.  Now, somehow, the horn got stuck and wouldn’t release and so the horn was blaring the entire way down the street.  I just want to note that 1) a woman’s look can be louder than a horn and 2) I don’t do that anymore.

So I want to know:  Are you a honker? Do you live in a big city or more suburbia?

*HONK!*