4 Pills later and….

It’s been awhile friends (and yes I know this is usually how I begin all my blogs, mostly because I feel mildly inspired or because the rail I just did is kicking in). [It’s okay though, I am only an occasional user.]

ANYWAYS… I am here to tell you guys about my glorious trip to The Doctors. And no I am not talking about the sexy phony’s in white coats and scrubs on daytime TV, and no I am not talking about a previous stint of marathon-ing General Hospital either. (Now, why I spent all day watching a day time soap is for another story, but I will tell you it involved Paxil/Viagara/Zoloft and a doob the size of  a super tampon. #notwinningever)

So bright and early on some morning of this week, I am up, UP and at ‘em (such a go getter). Well, now that it’s been roughly a year or so since I have been single I figured I should start being a responsible adult and go to the docs and get the good ol’ Pappy Pap and make sure all my ladies bits are calm, cool, and collected. I can only presume there is nothing worse than a having your very own cave of wonders demolished by an STI, or lets face it a child.  I mean, when you are in a relationship for 7 or so years, the visits are less frequent. I frequented falling down the stairs more often than visiting the freak’n monkey clinic down the street. Seriously I probably spent more time bending coat hangers just to the right point.

Part of me hustling my ass to the clinic is also that fact that it’ll be the most action I have gotten since me and the ex, parted ways. I am serious, one Leo DiCaprio dream and I book my appointment ASAP. Doctor here I come (possibly in more ways than……no, no, I won’t go there.)

So I am at the docs at 8am. Hair not brushed, no bra, crusted drool on my mouth, and a pair of sweats with the largest hole ever. I don’t know how I got the hole, I only noticed it when I was scratching my ass at the damn place, but hey…. easy access, maybe I won’t have to strip down.

***

PUPPY.

MONKEY.

BABY.

Which by the way is the worst song to ever get stuck in one’s head, especially since it’s not a song it’s just some annoying trend that can seriously fuck off. I am telling you, it’s like herpes, once you think you got rid of it, it comes back.

PUPPY.

MONKEY.

BABY.

Yarggh!!!!!

***

Anywho.

They call me in. I am sitting there and the Doctor walks in. OH FUCK, NOT THIS GUY. You see now that I live in BC, I don’t have my very own personal doc to call me own. Instead I have all these strangers since 05’ to now, prodding me and making me feel like less of a person. This fucker, makes me feel like I am incapable of being a person. If I had known I was getting this guy, I would have smeared peanut butter all over my chasm of doom just to see one of the 8 veins protruding from his forehead vibrate.

So as I was saying, the Doctor comes in. And it’s this old dude, who had trouble finding my hymen the last time I visited him years ago. He comes in, asks why I am here. I give the usually spiel about being responsible and safe and wanting a happy life. I also told him I had a dream about Leo DiCaprio and a pap test was the next best thing. Not only did he not get the joke, nor laugh, he had no idea who Leo was and presumed he was someone I was banging. (I FUCKING WISH, BUDDY….I FUCKING WISH!)

So right at it, my bottoms are off, my apron on, lie back with my feet up , legs a part. Ironically, if you know me, spreading my legs a part is easy (because I was a dancer guys….c’mon…) but here at the docs it was the most difficult thing I have ever done. I don’t know, I was either nervous, or tense or something. I tried to imagine me on a fluffy cloud with Leo about to finger blast me, but even that just made me tense more. DOOOO…..NOT…..PASS……GO……

So with the nurses help she presses one leg down, while Doc presses the other one….insert the metal/plastic tongs of GOFUCKYOURSELFTHISISSONOTCOOLORWORTHITWHATISWRONGWITHMETHISISSONOTOKAYINANYWAY

And then…..are you guys ready for this…..and then……..AND THEN…..

The doctor says, I do remember you.you were the one who wanted to be an actress right?

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. This asshole only recognizes me from inspecting my whiskerless biscuit!!! I KID YOU NOT!!

He then proceeded to tell me, that he recalled I had broken up with the ex quite awhile ago, and that the last time I visited him I had a UTI and was not being an honest girl. (whatever the fuck that means…..)

In rebuttal, I told him I haven’t had sex since me and the ex split and that if I ever got pregnant it would be a god damn Christmas miracle. Jesus Junior at your service.

He had a little laugh, which hey is all a girl can ask. I’m cracking wise and he’s crack-a-lacking.

So he said well…we both know that isn’t true, safety first. Always safety first.

I called him a butthead, straight up. He made me feel like a loser and the best I could come up with was…butthead.

DOCTOR=BUTTHEAD

Anywho, long story short, we did all the testing, he sent my cunt swabs away to be tested by other strangers in white coats. Said he’ll call me (I am sure he didn’t mean for dinner and a movie.)

He then gave me a prescription. WTF. I asked for what, he and I quote: Not to worry just a precaution….

Fast forward to taking the drugs I was prescribed: 4 blue pills all to be taking at once. and 1 red pill to be taken at once and the next thing I know, I wake up and it’s today….

#sorryforpartyrocking

Needless to say, I still don’t know what the prescription was for…and whenever I google or askjeeves it points to the matrix or the movie Hair…

Alas, I adulted at some point this week, and got my shit check so now I can slag around or just become a nun.

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Cait Tid-Bits #1

I am going to start trying something a little different now in my blogging. Not worry, I won’t get to sappy. I’m thinking from time to time I will write little blogs here and there revealing things about it. Just little tidbits to let you inside my mind a bit and muck about. 

Here goes!

ImageI despise Ryan Gosling. I DO! I can’t quite put my finger on it either. Part of me things he is completely over-rated and the other part can’t get Young Hercules out of my head. 

All I know is if he Hey Girl‘d me I’ve smack his ass (and no not in a form of coitus).

 

I once confused someone’s fart for a two egg breakfast…

My favourite pass time is sleep.

I am claustrophobic. Like actually so. Getting into an elevator is like shitting out a brick. It’s hard and rough, but somehow I get through it. Airplanes are the worst for me, I’m ordering beers every time turbulence hits. (I once saw a cat on the airplane wing, but that wasn’t the beer)

I play the shit out of video games. Through and through. I can’t rush through any game, I need to find all the nooks and cranny’s. Games with zombies aide me in overcoming me fears of not being able to find hidden gems and achievements. LEFT FOR DEAD my friends, DON’T BE A HERO.

ImageYou know how they say, you are what you eat? Well, after a hearty bowel movement I tend to take a look back, you know to see if she sinks or floats. A couple of times for a couple of days it was all blue. I’m talking about Queen Elizabeth royal blue. I’ve never been able to look a blue sour candies the same again.

After a long 8 hour drive to my grandma’s with 5 passengers and a dog in a crammed vehicle my claustrophobic ass could not wait to get out of the damn clown car. Unfortunately, the old man pushed the breaks a little to far and as I was leaning forward my dog flung backwards and my finger….my poor finger….it was my dogs first unintentional enema. The poor pooch couldn’t look at me for a week.

My grandma knocked me out when I was a wee little lass. After her countless calls for me to go to bed, I put my acting skills to use and pretending to sleep on the couch with my eyes open, while Dallas was on the TV. So be the good, kind lady she was and still is she picked me up by the ankles, carried me up the stairs and my head hit the banister on the way up. Needless to say I was sleeping like bear hibernating.

I stole money from my mom’s purse so that I could buy rocks from my little sister’s rock selling store. I feel it was a terrible investment.

There is this place under my ear, close to my jaw line, that I loved to be kissed on.

In high school, I received a marriage certificate. My husband, Ewan McGregor. My mother’s response: Great Scot! He sure was, wasn’t he.

When my V-card got swiped, I cried like a baby.

The smell of curry makes: my skin shrivel up like a prune, my nose burn, my stomach churn and makes me want to vomit. I would rather eat worms then be near the terrible smell. (For those of you who don’t know, my first experience with Indian food, left me hugging porcelain for three days.)