The HSG was a breeze. I can see why it might hurt, and to those of you who wrote to say it did I am sorry, but I didn't have a problem. Either because I have had a child, or because my uterus and related tubing are as clear as a mountain stream, or because advancements in technology no longer require them to use a garden hose I know not. It pinched when they inflated the balloon and then I was standing in the parking garage with my panties in one hand. Well, practically. In and out in fifteen minutes, which was good because those minutes were among the most socially awkward of my life.
You're thinking that the radiologist was, in fact, my neighbor, but this is not the case. I had some other radiologist on board, which should have been a relief but this guy was a freak show. I don't know what his deal was. He walked in and tried to introduce himself but stumbled over his own name and then starting blushing and I don't know what the hell else. There were peals of nervous laughter and weird hand flailing. I just stared at him. Did you ever see Amadeus? He reminded me of Wolfie. When he had to get up close and personal with my cervix I thought he was going to die, I really did.
"Ooops, Ha ha, SORRY! I touched your foot! AIE! I did it again! Ha Ha! You paint your toenails? I mean, you do. I mean, that's good. Ha ha ha."
Good grief. If this was the East Coast, or even Chicago, I would guess that I had slept with him at some point and he was terrified that I was going to mention it but- nope. I would have remembered this one.
You know who they should have looking for Osama Bin Laden? My university's Office of Annual Giving, that's who.
They are the reason I knew the phone was hooked up in the new house. Where the hell is that ringing coming from? The dish box. Oh... it's you again, chirpy undergrad telephone solicitor. How did you find me and wait! This isn't even plugged in! Amazing.
Today's appeal for money notes that one of "our own biochemists" (I have a biochemist? Cool, but what I need is a cytogeneticist) won the Nobel Prize. They think this fact should encourage me to cough up some cash, but frankly shouldn't they be asking him? I mean he is the one who unexpectedly came into some money and they obviously had no scruples about borrowing his prestige.
Nah, I love me some Blue Jays. Just kidding, you crazy ugly eggheads. Check's in the mail, I swear- stop calling and please please stop sending the magazine. I don't know how to tell you this, but I don't fucking care.