A few weeks ago, a friend of mine and I were talking about Prince at work. The fact that he needs a double hip replacement. Things may have been said that were lewd in nature about this and how I'd take care of business and whatnots, but it made us both kinda stop and think that...damn...Prince is like...51.
Prince is 51! And we both looked at each other stunned by this. Because, you know, there's just some people that are so iconic and so legendary that you kinda sorta forget that they are a person, for lack of a better way of explaining that. Prince isn't supposed to get older. He's Prince! I get older. You get older. Prince? No.
So...when Micheal Jackson died...it was kinda the same thing. He's not supposed to die. He's Michael Jackson. He's one of those "icons" that should just always be around. But he did. He died. And it was sad. I'll admit it. It was sad. So, now Prince...I'm putting you on notice. Take care of your hips. Get off the pain meds. Don't die. Please and thank you.
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In other, more silly, news, I had to have a mole removed. This mole was hanging out and being all shady and shit, lurking in the shadows and being weird. So, I went to a doctor last week. And she poked at it and looked at it and said "hmmm" a lot and asked me questions and then compared it to other moles and continued to say "hmmmm" and then said "I'm gonna send you to a dermatologist." OK.
So, I went to the dermatologist. I explained the shady nature of my mole, she said "hmmm" and started to poke at it and look at it and then said "It's probably nothing, but let's take it off and send it for biopsy!" Logical brain heard "it's probably nothing" and said "Ok." The rest of the brain that I sometimes cannot control heard "Hmmm....let's take this off and test it immediately!!" and I've been fretting ever since.
I know it's nothing. I know that is what the test will come back to tell me. But I can't settle down. I can't stop fretting. And the spot where it was removed is driving me bat shit insane with how itchy it is! So, it's not like I can just sit here and ignore it, either. Oh no. "Remember me? Your shady mole that has to be tested? I'm making your skin itch and I'm not even there. Try to sleep now, Andrea. Just try! Muah hahahahahaha!"
This is one of those times that being single does not rock. Sure I can still sit around without my pants and not shave my legs and watch the same movie on HBO over and over and over and over and over without hearing anyone say "Andrea...there are other things to watch! Now, get in here and rinse this damned plate!" But there's also nobody here to see the look on my face and then say "Andrea, it's going to be fine. You're fine. Really. Please stop fretting. And here, have this hug. I have one to spare. In fact, here's another. Now, let's go watch Aliens for the 1 millionth time as I feed you Oreos." That would all be very nice right now. I guess once I get the test results back, I'll realize I can just go buy my own damned Oreos...
Monday, June 29, 2009
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6 comments:
Andrea, it's going to be fine. Stop fretting. Have a (theoretical) hug, I have an unlimited supply, and so do plenty of other people reading this.
As for Aliens and Oreos, it's a long trip so I'll leave the millionth watching of Aliens to you, and I'm not feeding you Oreos because that would be kind of weird and creepy, but it is going to be fine.
I know it's not really the same, but if it helps, you can come wash the dishes at my house.
Does this mean I can't call you "Moley" any more?
;o)
I never understood the fascination with Prince. I mean sure, he made some pretty good songs, but sexy? HELLS NO! He looks like a woman. Unless you're a butch lesbian, I don't understand why any straight woman would find that eyeliner wearing, girlie voiced, puny, greasy haired, feminine man attractive even in the slightest. Yuck. I'm not saying I hope he dies or anything like that, but he's just not an attractive man. IMHO.
And dude, for reals, people have moles taken off and sent away for testing like a million times a day. That's like a bazillion moles tested a year. Of that bazillion like 1000 of those moles will be something you should be concerned about. So your odds are like 1000 in a bazillion. Totally in your favor. Get some oreos and smile. You're going to be OK. Promise.
Craig: That was very sweet. Thank you.
Randi: OH, you can still call me Moley. I have plenty more left hanging around. Plenty.
April: I am neither butch or a lesbian and I find Prince to be so damned sexy I can't even stand it. And? He's over the top talented, which, for me, only adds to the sexy. He's always been sex in my mind. I also don't find him to be feminine. I see him and I see confidence. Confidence is sexy. And I find him manly as shit. Even if he is way, way shorter than I usually find attractive in a man, he wears more eyeliner than I do, and struts around in poofy blouses and heels. If a man can do that and still exude confidence and sex in the manner that I find him to? That's a whole lotta manly sexy in my mind. Ooof.
And yeah, I'm fairly certain I'm fine. I really am. But from time to time my natural inclination to fret just takes over. Now is one of those times.
I feel that I am in the minority when it comes to women not thinking Prince is sexy. So many women feel the way you do and still, I just don't get it. I find confidence sexy, but even on girlie men they'll need a lot more than confidence to be considered sexy in my book. IMHO.
Oh and I know it's natural for you to fret, I would be too, I'm sure. That was my pathetic attempt at making you smile and maybe feeling better.
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