The doctor’s office. And lately I have been seeing the insides of quite a few of them. Why are doctors still using shag rugs and clown paintings to decorate their spaces? I expect that in a shrink’s office…just in case you are not feeling completely unloved and emotionally detached from the world around you.  Get over your ex-husband or Clownie will get you.

The Big Girl Pants' Club


Where do I start?

Go to my funny dermatologist and we solve all the world’s problems. On one of his walls, right next to an illustration of a nasty looking skin whatever (I don’t use the word p- – – ple – one of those words on my DO NOT  USE List), is  a cool B&W photograph of a dog sitting on a horse that he shot while in Ireland. I then realized that my doctor can afford to travel. Right now I can’t. I am not feeling the love anymore. So he checks out this lump and cuts it out. Looks suspicious. After 5 days of chewing my fingers raw, a woman, sounding like she is sucking on helium, calls to tell me that it’s just a little wart. A freaking wart. I am somewhat repulsed by what my body did. I created a wart. I put a stop on my copay check.

Then I go for my yearly check up because The View was in reruns. Just when I was getting used to living without any Whoopi, my doctor, who I admire and respect tells me to lose a few pounds. She weighs in at about 76 lbs. so I think she is just afraid that I might trip and crush her on the way out of the examining room. So what does she do next? I tell her I am trying to lose some weight and then she proceeds to put me on steroids because she thinks my head just might pop off my neck due to a near collapse of my spine. And then the office calls and they inform me that they gave me the wrong prescription.  So more steroids for the chubby girl! Well, I got back at them. I went on the new Atkins plan and lost 5 lbs. and I gained muscle by being able to bench press 350 lbs.

Off the gynecologist. She tells me to lose weight.  I hate women doctors. My male dermatologist made no mention of my weight. Then she gives me a script for a mammogram and that just seals the deal for me – I am going to my dermatologist for my yearly exams.

Before I forget, I was given a shot to prevent me from getting Shingles. What if I wanted to get it?  Two days later as Hurricane Irene visited New York; I broke out in hives the size of mini vans. Guess what – have some more steroids. We are having a special on them today.

Today I see a pain management specialist who is a pretty amusing guy.  Makes me laugh and then he gives me the bad news – there is no bad news. I am strong like bull (and he only mentioned his weight gain – what it this…when people see me all they want to do is talk weight? Leave me alone.) and he gives me good prescriptions – one for massages and another for muscle relaxers.  I could seriously run away with this short man.

And this has nothing to do with doctors, but I go to a meditation group every Sunday morning for 2 hours. There is a guy there who has what I believe to be a third nipple by his ankle. I could not follow my breath when I first saw it. Last Sunday, I got stuck sitting next to him and he starts to rub it.  I can’t help but wonder if he is turning himself on. Get a room and let me mix my muscle relaxers and my Skinny Bitch Margaritas together so I can find some inner peace.

And then I get the call I have been waiting for. It’s time for your next colonoscopy.

Somebody just shoot me.

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