February 6, 2011
Last week, someone besides me actually had to have surgery for once. My good friend Kim, who you all may remember from the Target photo shoot blog, had some kind of back surgery, which was because of the fact that her back was totally effed up because of something that I’m sure she told me a few hundred times but that I already forgot. And not because I’m a bad friend, but because I am stupid. Anyway, she had surgery last week and I feel really bad for her because she not only had to endure a 3 night hospital stay, but a 3 night hospital stay in a non-private room. Let me just go on record here as saying that non-private hospital rooms can suck my balls. Her hospital didn’t even offer private rooms, which I don’t understand but I assume is because this hospital is in The Ozarks, and in The Ozarks, a room with only 2 people in it, in which they each get their own bed, is considered pretty fantastic.
I have had many hospital stays, but only one in a non-private room. That experience scarred me for life and I have instructed The Hub that no matter what condition I am in or how close to death and in need of hospital care I might be, he must never, NEVER, allow me to be put into a non-private room ever again. In fact, I would rather they just stick me in a Janitor’s closet with one of those creepy molesty type Janitors for the duration of my hospital stay, because sleeping next to dirty mops and plungers and a molester that occasionally fondles my parts is about a kajillion times more preferable to me than sharing a room with another patient.
It was a cold Chicago day. I had been sick for about a week with what I assumed was just bronchitis. But after days of feeling like a herd of elephants had trampled on my chest, The Hub took me the closest hospital, which was unfortunately just a tiny bit on the wrong side of the tracks. Well, at the hospital I found out I had Pneumonia. I guess that it isn’t bad enough that Chicago has to totally freeze your balls off for 9 months of the year, but it has to give you pneumonia too. Anyway, they put me in a non-private room, but I was thrilled when I saw that I did not have a roommate. Thrilled. Then it got late. The Hub went home. I went to sleep. Then, in the middle of the night I was awakened by my new roommate. The curtain was pulled so I couldn’t see anything, but I could hear her, and she was a total crack head. The nurse was trying to ask her a bunch of intake questions, most of which I heard the answers to. She was a hooker. She done got beat up. She had Chlamydia. She had “The Herpes.” She had a lot of things. She was angry and loud and maybe not the brightest bulb in the lamp. She didn’t want her IV. She went psycho balls crazy when they were putting it in. I was not happy. I don’t like to get woken up anyway, but getting woken up by a crack-headed-herpes-hooker has got to be near the top of my list of ways that I don’t want to get woken up. Right between getting woken up by being peed on by a hobo, and getting chewed on by a grizzly bear. Or peed on by a grizzly bear and chewed on by a hobo. Either way is bad. And unfortunately, I had to got to the bathroom. So I waited until the nurse left, and I could hear the hooker doing her crack headed snore, and I slipped out of bed to go to the bathroom.
This is it, people. This is the moment that I wish I could take back. The one moment in my life that I totally wish I had not been curious. Curiosity killed the cat, you guys. And you know what? I bet that cat begged it to kill it. Because it saw something like I did. Something that can never be erased from ones memory. As I was heading to the bathroom to do my “oh-my-god-my-roommate-hooker-has-the-herpes-and-I-heard-somewhere-you-can-totally-catch-the-herpes-from-toilet-seats” hovering pee, I looked to my right, where unfortunately my roommate’s curtain was wide open, and I saw her. But by the looks of her head you woulda thought she was a him. Because she looked exactly like Buckwheat. EXACTLY. LIKE. BUCKWHEAT. But unfortunately….Oh, so unfortunately…I know that it wasn’t Buckwheat. And wasn’t a man. And I know that because she was on her back. With no covers. With her hospital gown pulled up to her neck. And nothing on under it. And her knees bent. And her legs spread apart. Oh so far apart. Like, really far. She looked like Buckwheat giving birth to another Buckwheat. And it was not good. Not good at all. And I have never shared a room again.
And this is why, even though Kim says her roommate sucked, she didn’t suck as much as mine. Did she cry all the time? Yes. Was she a drugged out hooker with STD’s and a wide open vagina? No.
But back to Kim…She now has a big ass scar that is literally a big ass scar. It starts at her ass crack and heads north, making her look like she’s got plumbers crack times a million. I have seen a photo, and it looks (a) pretty damn painful, and (b) pretty damn funny. I wanted to show you guys, but I didn’t want to invade her privacy by showing a bazillion people her extended crack, so I drew it for you:
Her friend Tana suggested she get a Cobra tattoo to cover it up, which is also a pretty good idea, yet not as good as mine. A Cobra says “I’m a wild girl”, whereas mine says “I’m a good girl.” I guess it just depends on how she wants to roll. I’m sure she would appreciate any suggestions you guys may have, so feel free to offer them up. And Kim…. GET WELL SOON!
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