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Sally Forth and get funky. Rex Morgan M.D. funky.

Toot Toot. Open wide. The Update Train is a-coming!

Marshmallows, Pixies, and Jug Bands all a-mingling together.

To The Hip-Hip-Hippity-Hop!


2003-08-19 - 1:16 a.m.


Open wide! Here comes the Update Train!

Cooly cloaking medicinal tales of ponderings in easy-to-listen faux whistle format, the Update Train (while rarely on time) ain't no joke. So please step aside. Brush the lint off your trousers. And get ready to rumble.


My darling invisibles. The polite banger-onners of my virtual door. You've been all "a-tippity-tap-please-ma'am-can-I-have-an-update?" and I've been all "What-I-can't-hear-you-what-with-the-loud-train-whistle-and-look-there's-a-juggling-monkey" ignoring you. And that's ok. Because I'm only human. And humans aren't perfect. In fact, we're imperfect. (Insert Bette Midler song here.) And that's ok. Because I'm ok. And you're ok. And God's ok. Amen.

Alright, moving ahead. Present-ing (drumroll please):

THE LIST THAT SIMULTANEOUSLY INFORMS YOU AND EXCUSES ME (top five reasons I haven't updated earlier):

#5) I've been apartment hunting.*

Happily the hunt was a success and this stealthy huntress found an apartment. It's across the street from our local art museum and it has a kitchen AND a living room (divided by a wall and everything.) It's quite The Find and I'll be a happy little apartment renter as of September 1st.

*(shhhhhh, be vewy vewy quiet. I'm hunting me an apawtment.) I know, I know, but if i can digress for a moment? Picture it. A show on the Discovery Channel. The apartment in its natural habitat. Me in city camouflage and grease paint, hunkered down in a tree stand hooked to a telephone pole? Okay, it's not a fertile marsh land of humor but it IS funny. Okay, kind of funny? (crickets chirping). Um. Hey look over there! A juggling monkey!

#4) As a result of The Find I have been doing the Happy Dance all over the his-ouse. Goodbye thirty-minute commute! So long Living-With-My-Parents-Take-Two! My sheer happiness has inspired the Happy Dance to new all-consuming levels. We're talking dickeys and jam shorts consuming. Oh yes. Contest-worthy* Happy Dancing. It's just been That. Damn. Good.

*There aren't really Happy Dance contests, Silly-Billy! (Unless you count the ones between me and my stuffed animals.) I've been the running champ for three weeks straight now. Oh yes. Laugh if you must, but are you a Happy Dance champ? Didn't think so.

#2) I've been consumed with my (relatively) recent discovery* that the Arby's sign is a big giant cowboy hat. This discovery went something like:

Me: What the hell is that?

Friend: Ummmm. (Embarassed pause). It's a cowboy hat.

Me: Oh. Well would ya look at that?

On the outside I was all Cool as a Cucumber with the sign's cowboy hatness, oh yes. But on the inside my world was being blown apart. A cowboy hat? How hadn't I seen it? My mind was teeming with questions that only Arby himself could answer. Until that moment I had never seen anything vaguely hat-like about the big sign. Penis-like, yes. Cowboy hat? No.

*This discovery left me with an uncomfortable awareness as to the fragileness of my societal reality, and lately I have been Crouching-Tiger ready for any and all objects de familiar to morph into bad Old West icons. (Particularly anything vaguely tureen-like.) Stupid tureens. What with their weird kidney shapes and fondness of soups.

#2) FullTimeSchool (I think of it all run together like that) starts on Thursday, and I have been wading through a virtual river of financial aid forms. (Minus ten for predictable metaphor). Seriously, though. A river. Made out of paper. Me. A-wadin' without waders. With a dash of crick water for falvoring. This process was definitely designed by a soup-loving tureen-carrying trail blazer named Cookie* (not to name names or anything). Just enough twists and turns and dotted lines to make me feel like my head's going to explode with the sheer back-asswardness of it all.

*It's always the fellows with foods for names. (Remember OJ? And don't forget all those pesky tea fellows, leading youngsters astray with their tales of the streets.)

#1) Exit stage left poor late-night humor.

Libby from Cracker Barrel fame passed away, and I have been occupied with all The Stuff that goes along with Death. I find societal death rituals very interesting, and while I have quite a few comments about the past week's experiences, I think I will keep them tucked in my belt for now and just acknowledge that the taste of hospitals hangs thick in the air, as of late.

However I will do Libby (and all hospital patients) the justice of touching on one more topic before I say goodnight. As you may or may not be aware, there is a disturbing fashion trend in our hospitals, involving nurses and the donning of gowns adorned with BRIGHT HAPPY CLOWNS, BALLOON ANIMALS, and all other sorts of CHEERY ICONS! Hey look at that! It's a dancing purple elephant! Wow, that makes me feel better! Poop on you cancer! Me and Mr. Elephant, we're a-fightin' this thing!

It would be one thing if the nurses themselves were cheerful. But no. Apparently wearing a shirt decorated in Carnival Chic does not require that you yourself put on a smile. (Although one nurse did seem to think it required an enormous amount of blue eye shadow. Which made me and the Baby Jesus very, very happy, indeed.)

I'm just saying, less forced cheerfulness in our hospitals, kay? If you're not gonna do it for me, at least do it for your patients. And God. And Bo and Luke Duke.

-The Fanged Faerie Challenges Dancing Purple Elephants to Happy Dance Contests. She is truly a mutha of tha street.

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