My mobile phone bit the dust a week ago, as a result of being thoroughly Scoutified.
So, after selling my soul to T-Mobile, I picked up a Motorola RAZR and a bluetooth ear thingy. As silly as those bluetooth ear thingys look, I look forward to my next hour-long conference call with the knowledge that I will be able to flap my arms like a duck while listening in.
Also, I’m very excited that I can tap the button on the ear thingy, say “Stacey… STACEY… stacey… STAcey… dammit… STACEY!… staCEY…” for five minutes, and the phone will possibly eventually call her automatically via the miracle of voice recognition. Modern technology is wonderful.
In other exciting modern news, I’m having my nose Roto-Rootered at some un-Dogly hour of the morning on Friday. So, as you start your day that day, take joy in the fact that no one is sticking a sharp slicing implement in your nostril.
The hope is that I’ll come through the other end with a straight septum and the ability to breathe through my right nostril, to say nothing of a distinct lack of eye-popping-pressure in the sinus area. In the meantime, I shall be enjoying a weekend with gauze pads taped to the underside of my nose with a bloodstream full of heavy-duty controlled substances. Anyone need a date to a fancy dinner party somewhere? I’m your man.
I have been extremely excited about this for the past year as I waited for my sick days counter to reset, in anticipation of getting this particular gremlin off my back. But as it draws closer, and I’ve been given my long list of prescription stuff to be filled and detailed and graphically described list of pre and post-op Things To Do, it’s becoming clear that this is not going to be a Pleasant Experience. In fact, it may, and I hate to sound pessimistic, suck more than a little bit.
I take consolation in that I can have my phone and Bluetooth earbud. Should I need something to ease my discomfort during my convalescence, I can simply tap my ear and say “Stacey… STACEY… STAAAAAAAACEY… stacey… STAAAAAAACEEEEEEYYYYYY… dammit.”
Are they not going to do your surgery with the iridium laser? Because that’s how they did mine.
And on the subject of the drugs for after, the very weekend after my surgery, I went to a fancy black-tie wedding. I took my friend Michael Womac (who you might have met at my house on Sunday). Michael, who knew my head was packed with drugs and that, further, I was taking more drugs orally, inexplicably drank himself silly at the reception, so much so that he got tongue-tied and told everyone that he was in administration at Northside Hospital, rather than admissions, which he was really in. He was so damned charming and funny that he managed to get us invited to another wedding, this one on Jeckyl Island. We went to that one, but of course he didn’t remember telling everyone that he was the youngest ever CFO of Northside Hospital, so I kept having to elbow him. The reception on Jeckyl Island was the one at which the priest french kissed me.
I can only imagine that we made it home from the reception after my surgery by the grace of God and the help of the Holy Spirit, because I had to have the limousine driver and the best man tote him to the car so I could drive us back to my apartment. Ah, good times.
So, anyway. Enjoy that surgery.
Um… thanks. I’m pretty sure my recuperation weekend will go almost exactly like yours.
I think there will be a laser involved for part of it.
Including french kissing a priest? They must have you on the GOOD drugs.
My heart goes out to you or should I say, your nose. So, I leave you with this toast… (imagine that I’m holding a diet coke in my right hand)
Here is to the fastest nose recovery and a lifetime of breathing through your right nostril.
CHEERS!
Thankee, lass. My nose salutes you.
I’m very envious that you’re getting your septum fixed!
I’ll let you know whether your envy is justified in a few weeks.
I used to have a phone with voice dial. At the time I had a boyfriend. You know the one. I’d programmed his number in using a super-affectionate tone of voice. And it drove me nuts that when I was irritated with him I would still have to say his name like he was dipped in honey if I wanted to get him on the phone.
Not that that happened a lot….oh…wait. Nevermind.
So, so true. And you even got a front row seat for the end of days.
I recorded Stacey’s name like I was announcing her at a ballpark.
“And batting for Atlanta…. STAAAA… CEEEEY!”
Which sounds ridiculous if you’re walking down the hall at work repeating a name like that.
You should give all your numbers some sort of special delivery. It’s the newest customization!