Hit it. Just hit it.

So, the title is a cheap shot. I don't care. I know that people will remember yesterday as the day that Michael Jackson died and completely overshadowed Farrah Fawcett's death (for real, cocktail parties world-wide will echo with the sentiments of "Michaels death was a tragedy but it was such a shame that Farrah didn't get a proper goodbye ..."). I was over Michael dying before he was dead (heartless, I know. It is sad. I KNOW.). I work in a newsroom. People were a flurry.

So, as a distraction for myself and anyone else out there who is cold hearted enough to admit that, although tragic, he wasn't exactly JFK, I am going to talk about something else. I have this lump, on my wrist, that has been there for about two years now. When I first saw it, I COMPLETELY FREAKED OUT. I thought I had cancer or something. But, then, my Mom "calmed me down" with the following conversation:

Me: Look at my wrist, I am a freak. I am going to die.
Mom: I don't see anything.
Me: Look. LOOK!
Mom: Oh, that's just a cyst.
Me: So I don't have cancer?
Mom: No. You have been playing too many video games.
Me: Oh. I want it to go away!
Mom: Hit it with a big book.
Me: Blank stare.

In about 2.5 I went from believing I had cancer to my Mom telling me to heal it by "hitting it with a big book, you know, like your art history book". The thought of breaking this cyst up under my skin and having cyst bits floating around my body makes me want to throw up in my mouth. So, I just left it and proceeded to show it off to anyone who would look. Most people tried to convince me it was my bone.

And that is how I have been living for two years. Then, a few weeks ago, I was playing pool volleyball and my wrist snapped back and it hurt. I don't have evidence that it was the cyst that caused the hurt, except that it was the cyst that was hurting. And it didn't stop hurting for two weeks. I wore a freaking wrist brace for goodness sake. Cris tried to get me to talk to the doctor about it but I was so worked up about my shins and they told me that it was a different doctor (of course) so ...

And when my awesomest neighbors, Noah and Sabrina, saw my wrist brace one Saturday on our way to a hiking (excuse me, not-hiking, long story (it was totally hiking)) trip they asked me what was up. And so I told them and while Sabrina was freaking out just like I WANT people to react, Noah is all "Oh, it's a Bible cyst." Excuse me what? Now Jesus did this to me!?! He explained that "You hit it with a King James Bible and it goes away". So, Mom and Noah are for hitting it with either an art history book or a Bible (there is some irony in there somewhere ... ) and everyone else, in the world, I hope, is for NOT.

I told Noah I at least would like a doctor to hit it with a Bible. More irony. So ... I don't really have a way of summing this up, mostly because the cyst still lives. So, I am installing a poll! You decide. What should be the fate of my cyst? (if you look to the right, in that column, there is a poll! Right above my followers.)

My doctor's office is not unlike Ikea.

So, if you read my running blog anjasmith.blountblogs.com you will notice a new post that is called A long six weeks. It is about how I am a dumb ass and have horribly healed stress fractures that are making my life miserable. Except that is my 'professional' blog so I have to be more diplomatic than that. Anyway, the real story here lies in the doctor and office whom I went to see. Oh man, there is so much to say ...

1. His name is Dr. Scott. (Dr. Scott!) If you don't get why this is funny, we might need to rethink our friendship. (Rocky Horror Picture Show) (Also, I don't mean that about our friendship. Cris didn't get it, so I don't think I can justify not being your friend for that. If only this were a perfect world.)

2. I walk in this ginormous building that is so over the top Swedish design fad with frosted walls that don't serve a purpose and cherry wood with no grain because it isn't real and random curves on surfaces and everything else is a straight line ... it was stupid.

3. There are actual ques for each of the fifty doctors (that is an exaggeration, but it is a lot, like 12 maybe.). Almost like an airport check in. True story: I didn't know which doctor was mine. They were SUPER upset about it. Like I had ruined their impenetrable system of efficiency with my single question. Too bad they don't have an information kiosk. Or a Starbucks.

4. Then they call my name. And four other people. And they herd us. Literally. No one at this point had been friendly. So they herd us past the airport hanger full of appointment setters and the long hallway of chairs for this service, or that service and there are all these "hubs". Dude. It was so weird. After trekking past a mountain goat and several Sherpas, I get to my room.

5. The nurse is the only one that gets brownie points because she called me "buff". Note: I am not buff. I am also at a sports medicine doctor. Aren't like, 90% of his patients athletes?

6. They then herd me to one of the "service centers" where I get my x-rays. The lady is the first to say my name correctly and then tells me she is going to have to take six pictures of my legs because they are so long. Why are these people treating me like a freak? I am at a sports medicine doctor! Tall and buff should be normal! After, I am told to wait outside the room to be herded back to my other room because surely I am too stupid to make the three turns to get back to that room. Actually, good point. Where is my Sherpa? I could get lost.

7. Then, Dr. Scott! comes in (btw, at first I thought my doctor was this very tiny rude man who upon looking back kind of reminds me of a munchkin at the gates of Oz. This whole experience is very Ozian.) Anyway, the real Dr. Scott! is a caricature. If only I had been any one of my single lady friends who is hoping to land a good looking doctor because he is very aware of what a good catch he is and probably would have told you. He lays the charm on super thick and he was all super tall and good looking with bright blue eyes, a three thousand dollar suit and a class ring bigger than my fist. Seriously, it was like a joke. I think he was sad that his voodoo wasn't effecting me. Apparently he is used to having to literally catch the ladies as they swoon.

8. Blah blah blah, stop running, come look at your crazy shin on the x-ray! Look, it bends the wrong way! You can't run! Come back in six weeks and we will figure out a game plan. Oh Dr. Scott! how I hate you for the news you give me.

9. I am then herded to the "payment center" and given detailed instructions on how to exit the building. The entire thing, x-rays included took under and hour. The waiting room could hold like 300 people. This place was bigger than a hospital. And more stylish. It kind of disgusted me.

Also, all of this happened before I had coffee. I really wish there had been a Starbucks ...

P.S. Sorry this post was so long. I realize you have things to do with your lives. Promise :D

Begone!

Note to all of you flying helicopters over Helen, Georgia: They don't like it. Not really sure why but it was made very clear by a sign we saw driving into Helen. It was hanging from a tree. Thirty feet off the ground. On the side of a state highway. From a string. I have re-created the sign for you. Enjoy.



There was something written on the back of the sign. We couldn't read it, but I am willing to bet it wasn't nice.

Hitler's Law

I have to ask Amanda for forgiveness, because I am stealing her thunder here a little. Right after Dr. Tiller was shot, she wrote a column about, like abortion or not, his murder being morally wrong. Simple and straightforward, right? No. Like any issue she brings up, whether it be shaving or gay marriage, she got mail. Of course. Because people are idiots.

So, she reads this one letter to me. I will re-enact it to the best of my memories ability.

Dear Amanda,

Your column was awesome, however I have an issue. You said that Dr. Tiller was killed out of hatred. You don't know that. That guy might have been trying to protect those children. It was just like self-defense.

If some guy was trying to kill my kids, I would kill him. So it's just like that.

Killing babies is soooo gruesome. I am going to give you a detailed account of how it is done only I am going to tell you the way Dr. Tiller DIDN'T kill babies, but the other way, that no one likes to do.

Also, if this was WW2 and you could kill Hitler to save all the Jews, you would wouldn't you?

The end.

Enter Hitler's Law. It reads as follows. If you bring up Hitler in a debate, you lose. That's it. Hitler = You just got served.

It's like this: What Hitler did was unparalleled by anyone in the written history of the world, with the exception of some biblical mofo's maybe. So to compare it to WHATEVER ISSUE WE ARE DEBATING is absolutely WRONG AND NOT ACCEPTABLE.

So, do some research, be a little creative in your comparisons. Don't bring up Hitler. It just makes you a chump.

You think you know someone ...

You think you know someone, you think you are going to build a life with them. You think that they are loving and caring and sweet and practically perfect in every way. And then you find out that they are a ruthless killer. I can't explain to you exactly how this feels. But, I will try to sum it up. I am hurt. I feel lied to. I feel pained that someone I trusted with my entire being could be a killer.

It's true. I know what you must be thinking, Cris wouldn't hurt a fly. OH HOW WE HAVE ALL BEEN DECEIVED. I will set the scene for you.

We were on vacation at the cabin. The entire group was sitting around a campfire roasting marshmallows, making s'mores, sharing the moonlight. And then Cris takes a fiery stick and with menace in her face and hate in her eyes she sought out the poor slug, running for his life from the fire and DUG THE FIERY STICK INTO ITS BODY. Her squeals of delight were probably the most disturbing part of the entire episode.

I sat there, trembling. My whole world was crashing down around me. What is next? Boiling kittens?!? She isn't the person that I thought she was. I won't ever forget the terror. I sleep with one eye open now. The image of that fiery, pointed stick coming at me ... it haunts me. I hope that we can move on and try to forget that terrible night ever happened. But, when the trust is broken, there is no turning back.

Oh, also, vacation was super fun :D More posts soon. Including: the most ridiculous thing I saw in Northern Georgia.