Feelin' Like a Freight Train...

I hope everyone enjoyed their Memorial Day weekend!  Because now it's time to memorialize my dignity.
I think I know now why old people are so quick to share their gross ailments with anyone within earshot.  I don't really think it's the only thing they have to talk about, or that they've lost a sense of shame or pride.  I think it's because they've probably been dealing with some seriously disgusting bullshit and they just want someone to cut them a fucking. break.  It's like, "Are you fucking kidding me with this whining about your parking space?!  I've been scraping my pennies together for fucking bologna for two thirds of my life and now I have the muthafuckin gout!!!"  Yeah, I think it's like that.

Due to the current state of my internal organs (not gout), one week from today I get to have this happen to me:

Which wouldn't be so bad--I mean I guess compared to other stuff that could happen.  But.  Just a few days ago I went in for another round of tattoo removal, which is self-inflicted and not at all medically necessary-I know.  And usually only moderately uncomfortable and road rashy for about a week, and then insanely itchy (like the kind that makes your eyes water) for another two weeks after that.  One guess though as to where this tattoo is gettin' gamma rayed. Yep.

So over Memorial Day weekend I decided to let off some steam.  Only I had to do so stone-cold sober because, "elevated liver enzymes".  There I was practically in the wilderness watching alleged domesticated dogs murder perfectly good baby bunnies with a virgin margarita and plate full of black bean hummus--desperately inhaling second hand smoke and ballcap sweat at a cornhole board on purpose, just to feel alive.  And this happened. All over.

Sexy right?  I'm pretty sure there's Zika in at least half of them.

And then on Sunday someone fed the gremlins that live in my ovaries after midnight.  And complete. fucking. chaos. ensued.

copyright Noodle Arm Harm

I let my mother know all this yesterday morning when she asked why I didn't sound up to chatting. Then in her usual way she told me not to "let myself go"--there's no reason I shouldn't still look nice through all this.  And then she nonchalantly mentioned that she now has cataracts.