dr. e and his magical prescription pad

What the shit is it with old male doctors and not listening to a word that comes out of my mouth?


Could it BE that they legitimately cannot hear me? Perhaps I'm speaking in tongues or something? All I know is that it's becoming increasingly obvious that we're not equipped to communicate with one another effectively.


My allergy specialist is a great doctor, really- As well as a cheerful old man who reminds me of a shorter-bearded Albus Dumbledore... and instead of a wand to magic my ailments away, he has a prescription pad that he uses to give me written legal permission to try all kinds of allergy and asthma medicines and potions. Not as cool as a wand, but I'm hoping it'll miraculously cure me much the same way. Truth be told, I was genuinely looking forward to my appointment, and not just because I needed like 234873874 new prescriptions.


Yesterday though, we just did not click. I don't know what it was. Maybe I was the last appointment of the day, maybe Dr. E really is finally going senile. Whatever it was, I don't like it. I like to trust that health care professionals are actually intelligent and engaged in making me and those I care about feel better. And anyone who is sick, really. I don't like to have to interrupt to get my point across or pull out the "Now you listen to me!" finger, because I find it disrespectful and I'm not trying to piss off someone who potentially holds my health and happiness destiny in their old, gnarled hands.


In fact, I've only really gotten mouthy with A SINGLE nurse in my lifetime. I was in college and not even the patient. Anyway, that hospital blew... coughghettocoughcough.  They admitted my best friend for an appendectomy and it turned out that she had cancerous cervical cysts.


Um, made a major mistake lately? Guessing it's NOT as big as that one was.


Good times.


Back to yesterday.


I get in there and get my shot and wait my turn and sit in the waiting room and then good old Dr. E saunters in and.... I get the distinct impression that this old coot is trying to usher me out the door as quickly as he possibly can.  As in, not asking me the general questions I've grown accustomed to in yearly check-ups, and I happen to have negative answers already prepared. I was going to brace him for the news that I'm living with a Mastiff with a semi-apologetic joke.  I HAVE STUFF TO SAY. I LIVE WITH A GIANT DOG IN A DEATH TRAP AND I LOVE TO GARDEN. THIS ISN'T WORKING. I NEED MORE DRUGS.


So, um, NO, dude we're not rushing this along. We're on my time. You wanted to check-up. Check. Me. Up.


Because you know what? This isn't a exactly a breeze for me, either. I had to endure asking my boss to leave work early (cringe),  drive my hot-box of a car AWAY from air conditioned home to your office, I paid a $250 deductible that I've been dodging since January, I burn a lunch hour every week driving up to your office to get a healthy dose of my own worst allergens shoved into my veins at the cost of $22 a pop, and I CAN'T FUCKING BREATHE FOR SHIT.


NO dude, you're going to FIX THIS.


WITH COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF DRUGS.



So, I quickly but firmly showed good old Dr. E the writing on the wall. You know, my hobbies, my symptoms, my living situations, the way the air is killing me slowly, etc.

And you know what he said:

"Oh dear, you're just a disaster. Dear, dear, dear, you're an allergist's nightmare. I need to go make a copy of this form because it's not going to hold all the perscriptions I need to write you. I think it's time to pull out the big guns."

To which I smiled sweetly and nodded.

Fucking right.

Here hoping I'll be feeling much better. Very soon.

Xo Sara

rub a dub dub get out of the tub... for your facebook picture.

I've been having some thoughts lately regarding your favorite social networking site and mine, the book of faces.


Despite Facebook's ability to make actual human interaction completely unecessary, illuminute us on the minute interactions and daily details of people we otherwise wouldn't have thought twice about ever speaking to again, and its ability to act as a catalyst for petty drama, I actually like Facebook.


We've had some times together, Facebook and I. Months of compulsively stalking exes, blocking haters, hours of penning clever photo captions and album titles, tons of emo song lyric statuses during my college daze, and LOTS of obscure interests, these are all things I never would have had the opportunity to master had it not been for the joy and wonder of Facebook. Once, Facebook and I even took a six month "break" that ended when I moved to a new place for the summer and needed, somehow, to keep track of everyone I was meeting there. SO MANY PEOPLE.


I NEED FACEBOOK TO KEEP TRACK OF ALL MY HUNDREDS OF FRIENDS.  


Not really, but at this point, the benefits outweigh the faults and I'm riding this train all the way to the station.


Sure, the powers that be at Facebook like to shake things up and completely change the viewing format to keep everyone on their toes, or strategically so that they'll get more traffic from people trying to figure the damn thing out... again, which is infinitely annoying and kind of makes me want to do violent things to the undeserving, but the bonds run strong between Facebook and me.


It's gotten to the point where I can say, completely unembarrassed, that I actually gauge how much I will likely get along with a person based on their Facebook personality. And if I'm beating them at life.... you know, competitive little me.


For instance... I can tell that if someone has The Great Gatsby in their favorite books, we won't hit it off, just the same as if they list Cosmo, which for the record, IS NOT a fucking book. Don't get me wrong, I personally got immense enjoyment out of the book and think it's a gentleman and a scholar among literary gems. However, really? Really? You're going to list a book that was required reading in HIGH SCHOOL in your favorites? Holy Unoriginal. I'm certain there has been a time in my six-year F-book career that The Great Gatsby was listed in 1/3 of my friends' favorite books. Don't you want people to think you're smart?! My bad, I guess people think listing that book does make them look smart. Maybe I'm friending all the wrong people.


And another thing, what is this list-every-band-you've-ever-heard-of-in-the-indie-rock genre in your favorite music section? Sometimes I just want to challenge these mother fuckers to name even one album from every artist they list. It annoys me. Just give me an idea of if we would get along together on a long road-trip.

And now, we have the minimailists. At least I think that's the cool thing now. Tell as little as possible, but leave one pithy quote to sum it all up. Bonus points if you can limit it to one word. OR, on the other end of the spectrum, you have the people that update their statuses sixty times a day, using gross abreviations and emoticons.



I sound like I hate people WAY more than I do.



Really, I'm probably the weirdo for reading into the things people nonchatlantly splash across the internet the way that I do. And also, all the stuff I listed above can be forgiven by other redeemable qualities, such as making me laugh so hard in real  life that liquid splurts out of my nose, or a nice comment on one of my wall pix. However, there is one F-book infringement that is unforgivable, other than the obvious, close-minded and ignorant political bigotry in the form of a status-update.


What I'm talking about, sad but true, will genuinely determine if I will make an effort to like a person in the world beyond that safety of the interwebz. The profile picture. I guess this requires some explanation. This recent discovery of myself stems from  something my friend Jessica told me recently; that only girls who think they're pretty leave their profile pictures open to public viewing. Maybe that's true, maybe it's not, but the girl has a point.


I don't mind if you have a picture of your dog, your child, your boyfriend doing something embarrassing. I don't even give a good goddamn if you have a picture of your newly engaged hand with a huge diamond on it, or if you're particularly proud of a vacation body that you worked your ass off to look bangin' in that bikini for. I'll probably not hate you if you have some angle pics that are better suited for MySpace, although I'll most likely get some laughs at your expense.



The picture you post of yourself is your own perogative, it's how you want the people you know to see you, and I respect that everyone has a little different idea of what makes them feel pretty. Once, I posted a picture of myself three sheets to the wind with a sugar-glider on my shoulder and four chins because I was literally screaming in terror that the thing was going to nibble on my earlobe. We've all got different views of what makes us most attractive.


But I do have a deal-breaker, I just don't do bathtub pictures. I don't care how skinny, hot, beautiful, hipster, indie RoCk 'N rOlL, or badass your are, there is absolutely no reason in my mind that any person, from age 18-98 should ever, ever post a picture of themselves in a bathtub with water running all over them. I recently came across a picture of a young lady that is a REPEAT offender of this one rule, and I must say, I'm completely baffled. Her profile pictures are public, and there she is, at various stages of undress, chillin' in a tub o' water. Will she never need a job? I don't think sitting in a bathtub with water hitting your body is a marketable skill. THIS IS THE MIDWEST, I'm pretty sure no modeling careers are taking off around here. I'm just so confused, does this make one popular with the fellas? Because who wants to date, seriously be committed in a relationship, with a person who's giving previews to every other guy on the block book? It's times like this that I just want to bring these girls big terry-cloth robes, sit them down and give them a hug and preach just a 'lil bit, because maybe SOMEONE already should have. It doesn't matter what super-alternative angle or lens you use to take the picture, it's still a bathtub picture and you still look like a fool.



And also kind of like a hussy.



RESPECT YOSELF.



Xo Sare

Dramazzzzzz.

Hi There!

Wow, I bet you just about shit your little Soffee shorts when you saw you had an email from me, huh? That's ok, if I were you, I would have done the same thing! I just hope you weren't taking a sip of a drink or using any sort of sharp object when you saw my name pop up. I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself! Anyway, fear not, I'm not going to threaten to reach down your throat, pull out your lungs, and use them to make balloon animals. I just though I'd drop you a quick line to educate you a little.

So, instead of resorting to violence or sending you a pithy and passive-aggressive message like the one I got from you, I'm just going to be completely straightforward with you. Ok? Perfect!

Sweetheart, breakups are an absolute bitch, huh? You think you know a person! You let them in your pants, you give them cards signed with x's and o's and you introduce them to your friends, and what do they do? They just up and decide you're not the one! Then they have the nerve to start dating someone else after they break up with you! Just doesn't seem fair does it? Well, maybe that's because it's not, and don't I know it, I've been there a time or two. Fortunately, I learned this about the world and life in general: There are no rules. None. That is a lesson, and you're welcome.

People break up and get together thousands of times a day, all around the world. And my! It's a big ole' world isn't it? So yeah, you know what the smart ladies do when they get broken up with? They put on fuck-me heels and get liquor drunk with their girlfriends. They listen to emo-ass music and ceremoniously burn keepsakes of the lost love.  They watch chick flicks while simultaneously eating their feelings and crying. Seeing as how you're fairly young and all, you may be a tad new to this, so I thought I'd drop you a line, speaking from experience. When the person you've been in a relationship with was compeltely faithful, loving, put up with your craziness, and broke up with you because you aren't the right one for them, you thank your lucky stars that you made it out alive and that was as ugly as it got. It sucks, it hurts, but guess what?! It's been happening for years and ::somehow:: the world is still in orbit.

You know what you don't do after someone breaks up with you if you have even a trace of class in the blood running through your veins? You don't whip out your trendy little cell phone and start chatting up your ex's best friend for deets on their new life, and you certainly don't continue to do it for months and months on end, guilting them into responding to you.  You know why? Because it's not going to make you feel any fucking better and because that's how stupid little bitches ruin twenty year long friendships.

I've been really trying to find a way to play this out in my head in a way that doesn't make you look like a pathetic psycho.... but let's face it, there isn't one. And you know what I hate even more than that? The fact that your shitty judgement and character has made me feel anything in your direction. At all.

On the upside, my conscience is now COMPLETELY clear.

Were you really hoping to be thrown a few scraps of conversation to wolf down so you could let yourself pine away for however long you have left in you? Ew.

Hey, I'm not a mean girl. Well I definitely can be, but I'm not being mean to you.  I'm thanking you for making it so easy for me to dismiss you as a whack-job. I'm helping you.

If you are ever hoping to have a healthy and adult relationship in the future, you really need to mind your business, get over yourself, and move on. I don't appreciate being jarred from my happy life of x's and o's and basically complete bliss and harmony to deal with bullshit because you don't know the appropriate way to handle yourself.

XOXO

Sare.

Oh, and PS, babe, you probably don't want to eat your feelings too much, you know, if you're going to try to get back out on the horse anytime soon.