Is there a breeze in here?

Whoever designed the haute couture "gowns" (and I use the term loosely) that you're destined to adorn during your doctor's visit should be tarred and feathered. Ladies, I know you get where I'm coming from on this one.

Every gown is different--some slip over your head, with giant slits up the side. Some are shaped like a coat, with sleeves, completely open in the front. The worst of them all? They tie at the neck and split down the front, leaving everything that you want to cover exposed. And a dainty little bow tied at your throat, mocking the loss of your dignity.

You sit on the table, paper crunching under your butt, legs crossed, tucking in the corners of your paper garment in a pathetically desperate attempt to retain a shred of privacy.

Then, you're supposed to act like a grown up in front of a complete stranger in a white coat, talking about the weather, or sports, or cheeseburgers, while they poke and prod in the places you least enjoy being poked and prodded. In your dainty paper gown, that has now lost all integrity as an item of clothing.

You'd think it would get easier as you get older. But no matter how many years go by, I find myself curled in the same pseudo-fetal position, feeling as awkward as one of those dreams where you find yourself running down the school hallway naked.

Google Maps Hates Abortions

While searching for a new doctor yesterday, I thought I'd check out the Google street view of each of the locations listed, to see if I liked the areas, what the buildings looked like, etc. And in one of the locations, this is what I found:

The office looks great, I like the area, and the sun is gleaming... right off the abortion protesters' signs.

Take a look. That's right, abortion protesters. What are the chances they would be outside of the office RIGHT as the google street car drove by? Pretty slim. And if they were there then, chances are even better that they're there often. And the last thing I want to deal with when I'm on my way for a pap smear is people yelling at my car, calling me a baby killer.

So... needless to say, I'm going to find a different doctor.

The Poop Eye

For the past several weeks, I've been waking up feeling like I slept face down in a sand box. My eyes have been red, itchy, watery, and they burn even when I get in the shower. I've been consistently punishing the culprit--Gwen, our tiny feline matriarch who has made her nest atop my squishy down pillow.

We made a new rule for the big bed: no kitties on the pillows. They can sleep anywhere in the range from chest to feet, but nowhere north of there. And I've been pretty diligent in enforcing the new regulations. Each night, I awake at least twice, and though I hate to do it--I have to move Gwen in the middle of her furry slumber. She squaks, I apologize... it's a regular round table of nightly arguing.

Gradually, the pillow nesting wore down a bit, and though K's eyes have cleared up, mine continued to burn. I got so used to it that I stopped noticing. When I went to the mitten for Christmas, I stopped into my eye doctor to get a new prescription for my contacts. And that's when I found out... that I had the poop eye. Okay, it's not really poop eye, just a "cold" really, but that's what K is calling it.

It wasn't just allergies to the kitties; in fact, I may have been punishing Gwen for no reason, though I'm sure her sleeping on or near my face didn't help the situation. My doctor asked how long I've been dealing with it. I told him for quite some time, and that it was because my cat slept on my pillow a lot. He shook his head, telling me that it was quite something else, and prescribed two sets of eyedrops for my condition. Two sets? That sounds pretty serious.

So for the entire week I spent in the mitten, I had to pull out the old goggles. I was on a strict no contact lens diet. This means all Christmas photos were in my glasses, every time I saw old friends, I had to do it in my glasses, and I won't even mention trying to drive at night with these damn things.

Now, I'm back home and Gwen seems to have forgotten the rules. I had to relocate her twice last night, and my eyes are starting to burn again. I'm starting to think that she's sleeping with her butt right on my eyeballs. I'm going to give it a few days of reminding her of the rules, and (STILL) wearing these glasses... then we'll see how the poop eye develops.