Tuesday, December 02, 2008

Belated Leftovers

A's roommates didn't eat all the Thanksgiving leftovers after all. I went over there on Sunday and picked up quite a lot of turkey and other trimmings and we've been eating turkey sandwiches, which are, as we all know, the point of Thanksgiving anyway, ever since. We might be eating turkey tetrazzini tonight, too, if by some slim chance when I get home there is still turkey. Which there probably won't be, given that everyone in the house is fond of turkey.

Pebble seems to be out of heat - she's resumed just her normal annoying behavior, not her supercharged ultra annoying behavior - and she's going to the vet on Thursday morning for an operation. Yay. She's already small and a little plump; no doubt after the spaying she'll still be small and way plumper, like a tiny little Siamese themed throw pillow with legs.

Anyway, I have no other news. I'm in something of a post Thanksgiving funk, I think, and I've gone on a full social retreat in which I see no one but my family and, with any luck, I manage to hardly see even them. I am holed up in my room or the horrible laundromat with ginormously thick and not all that good fantasy novels and I'm perfectly happy that way.

I've been thinking that what I really want to do is go on a real retreat - you know, the kind where you go to a monastery or something and stay in a cell and there's total silence and you get to work in the vineyard and have these amazing meals and then a brief spiritual experience and then you go home and write it up for Conde Nast Traveler. Unfortunately I doubt I can afford that - I wonder if there are any cheap silent retreat places in Candler, like behind somebody's garden shed?

Oh and I had a mammogram yesterday, big exciting afternoon, and the mammogram lady kept calling me Sister while she was mushing my boobs all around on the plexiglass plate. It struck me, as it does every year or so when I give in to my gyno's suggestion that I have one of the damn things, that being a professional boob squasher is right up there in the list of the world's weirdest jobs. I mean, really, that's what she does all day long - and she's very good at it too, and they're super efficient and nice over there - she grabs peoples boobs and, well, manhandles - womanhandles? - them into position. It's a strange world.


arratik said...

wow... if my doctor started calling me "brother" in the middle of, say, a prostate exam, I'd be filing a malpractice lawsuit.

Gratuitous said...

And what position would that (they) be in, exactly? And have I already seen it in a freeze-frame of bra-less jogging, perchance? Um, sorry, it's impossible for a man to not acknowledge boobies when opportunity presents.

Try this on for a retreat: The Hostel in the Forest www.foresthostel.org

Six hours from here. A retreat without a Cruise Director. Right up your alley.