thestain

Vegan Pagan

My Day: Even the Butter Can't Fill the Sucking Hole

I made cranberry nut orange bread from my new Vegan cookbook last night.  Today I'm eating it, slathered with butter, at my desk, while on yet another conference call... I have no idea what's being said, the nuts are very crunchy.  Almonds; blanched, like the people on the other end of the line(s). Periodically there is a lull in the call while everyone speculates on who is chewing in their ear.

"Husan..." I say,"...Susan Godwin. She's bulemic too, so...if you think this is bad..."

There is silence. She isn't on the call today.  Sadly everyone know this because Susan is one of those types who always says her first and last name loudly and distinctly when the recorded message tells her to upon entering the call.  I never do.  If I say anything at all its likely to be, "Fuck, I wish there were more pound keys..." 

I've put enough butter on this bread to make a definate statement about the vegan part.  Why did I buy a vegan cookbook? I didn't! My neighbor did and it was delivered to my house on accident. OR WAS IT? That's what I THOUGHT! There are NO ACCIDENTS!  Jesus wanted me to have it, like Jesus wanted me to have an extra recycle bin and the neighbor's sunday paper.  The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.  Every dog in the neighborhood shits on their lawn.  They are Cat People.  They have a flag hanging near their door that has a cat and a ball of yarn embossed on fake silk. The cat appears to be either batting or saluting the yarn.  Creepy.  It's like, what do you do with a flag like that? Is there an anthem?  Why do the other neighbors object to my Canadian flag so much? Canadians aren't shitting in everyone's flower beds. Killing our songbirds! I don't even LIKE Canadians, particularly. I do love maple syrup, though and that seemed to be preferable to casting my lot in with these murderous string-happy beasts.  All it takes for Evil to prevail is for Good People to do nothing.   

The agenda for this call was so broad that I am beginning to worry that it will ever end. I don't see how it can without intervention.  Things like "Discuss Future"...WTF?  There are 9 items.  The call is supposed to last an hour and has already lasted 38 minutes and we're still on the 2nd item, "Communication Plan"....

In our neighborhood, we have a quarterly newsletter entitled Highland Neighbor News or some such thing.  I keep suggesting that we ban cat flags and yarn.  I don't even know what it means for sure, but I know its bad.  They print everything else, including childrens poetry(!), (ShA-IT!), but never anything I submit. 

I disconnected myself from the call after inhaling a nut and choking for about 3 minutes.  I let the other callers hear most of it, including the actual horking part where the nut was eventually, dramatically, spit into my trash can.  Then I hit the pound button a couple of times and hung up. 

Yarn. I'm telling you, our sweaters are not safe.

Dr. No

I had a check up last week. A 'health screening', as they say. Actually, it was me who said it: I changed the name from the 'Pissing Blood Death exam' once I figured out that it was eating 2 pounds of beets that caused my initial colorful self-misdiagnosis. Ahhh, the internet. It giveth and it taketh away.  Anyways, I hadn't been to a doctor in about 5 years, so I figured, What the Hell, give the woman a treat. 

I picked my doctor initially because her office was around the corner from a health food store, in an old house, and she is a lesbian.  I figured this would all translate into medical pot and chrystal prescriptions, no matter what my affliction. I was willing to put up with wearing a slab of quartz the size of a baby's bladder around my neck if it meant that I'd be the only one at my federal facility toking up true in the smokers shack. I'd wear medical tye dye, so no one would hassle me. Reefer Medness ...Sadly, not the case.

Dr. Hern specializes in a 'holistic' approach to 'medicine', which means no coffee in the waiting room, or heat, and she brings her dog to work.  A 'therapy dog'.  The dog, Penny, some sort of cockapoo or small mixed breed, is next to useless.  Trust me.  Despite gentle verbal coaxing, a snausage bit lure, and finally sternly screaming, "SNIFF IT, GODDAMN IT, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU? WHO HAS CANCER -- ME OR THE PREGNANT WOMAN!?" that dog wasn't giving up an opinion, preferring instead to wag and look sadly at the snausage as if it were a medicaid voucher.  Fucking specialist. Tandie, the RN knocked quietly yet frantically on the restroom door the entire time, which may have been a factor.  She whisked the dog away and put the 2 urine samples back in the little cupboard before escorting me to my little exam room. 

"Why isn't Penny coming in?" I asked Dr. Hern. 

"She likes to stay out in the waiting area with the patients, or sleeps in my office..." Dr. Hern answered.  She stared at me.  She held a clipboard.  "You don't have to be undressed, yet, you know..."

Or in the stirrups if that dog wasn't coming in. I scooted back to the top of the table and covered myself with a childrens book.  Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel. It took me awhile to decide.  Dr. Hern waited patiently.

She asked me a series of standard questions, What Medications am I taking? History of Heart Disease, Epilepsy,  Cancer...

We exchanged a look.  "I have herding dogs," I clarified.

"You what?" she asked.

"I have herding dogs.  If I need a cancer dog, I'll get a labrador or a blue tick hound...something that can look appropriately sad if needed. Something that doesn't mind dipping its nose in a jar of pee when the occasion calls for it."

"Yes...welll..I'm asking you about your family history."

"My dad had colon cancer.  And he had a spaniel mix. Barked incessantly.  He never flushed.  My grandmother was an alcoholic and she liked cats...Peed with the bathroom door open."

"Okay. Do you smoke?"

"Only by prescription..." I said, cheering up a bit.

She stared again. "What do you mean?"

"I don't smoke tobacco, no."

"Alcohol?"

"3-4 drinks"

"A week?"

"A day. Sometimes I break the day into halves or quarters. Mid-Afternoon, Evening....I DO NOT have a cat."

She stared. "That's not good.  One drink a day for women. Men have better livers, they can handle two drinks."

"I should trade livers with my husband because he is NOT utilizing his to its fullest."

It was pretty downhill from there. She took my blood pressure, looked in my ears, made me undress, and without the dog present she did the internal exam. She sounded surprise when she said that I appeared healthy.  I shrugged.

On my way out, the dog, who was busy being therapy-petted by an old woman in the waiting room, avoided making eye contact. 

The park near my house has a dog area.  Mostly small dogs and their overweight or elderly owners.  The owners smoke while their dogs sort of loiter about sniffing half-heartedly at the sparse vegetation..the piles of dog poo. The occasional ball is thrown.  Its sad. All that untapped potential.

From now on I'm saving my urine and bringing it there.   I don't need a doctor.