No Pressure

This post will serve only one purpose, and that is to take the pressure off the next post after such a long gap between posts. You know how, the longer you avoid something, the bigger and scarier it gets? Yeah.  If I hadn't done something, the rest of this blog would never be written.

But never fear! The de-pressurizing post is the answer. You say it's been too long and now you're afraid to face your blog again? Let the de-pressurizing post do the hard work for you. You say you lack inspiration but at night the guilt of your procrastination robs you of your sleep? The de-pressurizing post can get you back on track.

But wait! There's more! If you call to order your very own de-pressurizing post in the next hour, we'll DOUBLE your order. That's right. TWO de-pressurizing posts for the price of one. You won't find this deal in stores, so call now and free yourself from blog procrastination!

And...we're back.

A picture with a thousand words...

At seven, my daughter has already decided it's best to have a hard copy of our conversations.

The Tyranny of the Computer Guy

My home computer locked me out a few days ago.  Not only was this completely uncalled for, it will most likely require me to call a computer guy.  Naturally, this has thrown me into paroxysms of terror.

Computer guys are frightening.  Invite one in to fix your hard drive and he could read your diary while he’s in there.  He’ll come across that picture you completely forgot was even on your computer.  You can’t predict when your computer will leave you in this vulnerable state, either.  It’s a 2 a.m. house fire and suddenly you’re outside in your underpants before the entire fire department.

Computer guys know how much power they have, don’t let their good-natured geeky ways fool you.  They were teased in high school, passed over by girls in favor of jocks who are now beer-bellied factory workers and need those computer guys when their PCs crash.  You think they don't remember every slight they endured?  Think again, my friend.  They’ve just been biding their time.

Someday a computer guy will blackmail me into doing his bidding – I am convinced of this certainty.  Sure, it might start out like a sitcom, where every time I balk at fetching and carrying he dangles his knowledge of my computer’s permanent record over my head.  But it will escalate, and before you know it I’ll be at the top of a parking garage with a sniper rifle.

You understand, then, why I’ve been putting off this phone call.  I know I can’t pull off any crime a computer guy might require of me without getting caught.  I can’t even remember where I’ve put my keys most of the time.  Caught unprepared, it is now just a matter of time before I am at a computer guy’s mercy.

I hope that he will prove benevolent.  Or that I’ll find a good lawyer.

Claiming My Free Wheelchair

When I go to urgent care, they ask as they take my information if I need a wheelchair today.  They have to ask this probably because some perpetually angry person felt he should have been asked this and he wasn't asked this.  This is what happens when some children aren't given a pony: they grow up and file lawsuits over burning themselves with hot McDonald's coffee, or not getting to ride in wheelchairs at places with wheelchairs just sitting around.

I kind of understand that guy because I like wheelchairs too, and I guess if you had to go your whole childhood without a pony it might seem like a free wheelchair ride could partially make up for it.  I'd like a free wheelchair ride too but I'm never ballsy enough to say "yes" when they ask me.  I will one day, though.  I'll wait until I have something that clearly does not impede my walking abilities and I'll claim my wheelchair.

"What are we seeing you for?"  The medical receptionist behind the desk will ask.  (I guess she's the receptionist.  I wish everyone would wear labels explaining what they're called.  There used to be doctors and nurses.  Now there are, like, three levels of doctor-type people and sixteen levels of nurses.)

"I think I broke my finger," I'll say, and she'll type it in.

"Do you need a wheelchair today?"  She'll breeze through the memorized question, ready to move on to the next real one.

"Yes," I'll answer.

"Have you -- wait, what?"

"Yes, I need a wheelchair."

"Have you had any recent falls?"  She's looking at me now, thinking she missed an answer earlier.

"No."

"Do you feel unsteady on your feet today?"

"No."

She looks puzzled.  "You said it was your finger you think you broke, correct?"

"Yes."

  "...but you feel the need for a wheelchair?"

"Yes."

I think at this point she might start to feel irritated.  She might begin to realize I'm one of those people who never had a pony.  That doesn't matter, though, because she asked and I said yes.  Now she has to give me a wheelchair.

Victoriously, I'll wait until my wheelchair arrives and sit smugly in it while it transports me 3.5 feet to my exam room.  I wonder if I can keep this thing until I'm all done and then get one of those nurse-type people to wheel me out to my car.  'Cause that would be sweet.

I might seize every opportunity for a wheelchair ride, in fact.  And you're right, lawsuit guy: that would totally be as satisfying as finally getting a pony.

Post #1 (new AND improved!)

[this post deleted because it sucked]