Got the second of three Gardasil shots yesterday to fend off the ol’ HPV.
A nurse wearing an awkward bumblebee costume that could have doubled has a way to hide a pregnancy administered it into my left arm.
There’s a burn after the poke that feels like a fire ant crawled under the top layer of skin, had little fire-ant babies and then let them spread throughout your arm.
“WOW. That, umm, hurts,” I told the nurse, trying to hide the tears I felt inside.
“It typically does with the Gardasil,” she said like an evil bumblebee.
I knew that. I’d already had one shot. But holy needle did it still hurt.
And last time my arm was sore for three weeks. Like can’t-even-carry-my-purse-on-that-shoulder sore. Or why-does-holding-the-steering-wheel-have-to-be-SO-painful sore.
I’m told that’s normal, which I interrupt to mean “Your arm will now, again, be sore for three weeks.”
All this so I won’t get HPV.
I’m not even entirely sure what HPV is or why I should fear it.
Not to mention that the process requires a six-month commitment to getting the doses, and the longest commitment I’ve made, ever, was to the season pass at Great America and that was only five months from date of purchase to close of park.
I have this irrational fear that when it’s time for the final shot, I will find myself someplace remote with either multiple rainforests or multiple trailer parks and no nurses or health insurance in sight and then somehow the first two doses no longer will be effective because I won’t get the final dose in time!
Also, I have a newfound irrational fear of bumblebees.
I’m 2,469 miles over due for an oil change.
My car mirror is being held on with packaging tape.
None of my clothes (bras) fit. I don’t even care that you think it’s annoying that the girl who lost weight is complaining about clothes not fitting because I’ll tell you what’s really annoying – MY CLOTHES NOT FITTING!
My blonde hair looks half brown and those roots aren’t just going to just dye themselves.
The insoles of my gym shoes are half gone. And I still walk four miles a day in them.
I’ve got $148 left to pay off on my gall bladder surgery.
My weekly tithe has dropped to an embarrassing $15 a week.
I’ve been wearing my two-week contacts for the last seven-to-ten weeks.
– “How to become a millionaire. Step 1: Get a million dollars.”
Dear Chicago Bears,
Why do you hate me?
Ok. I understand, this isn’t about ME. But seriously, you’re ruining my precious Sundays.
All right. Fine. I’ll take partial blame for that 104-3 (ish) loss last week. You’re right, I wasn’t watching, and you guys rely on my good-vibes to win these games. I’m sorry about that.
It’s just that I thought checking the score every three seconds via ESPN on my crackberry would be enough. I realize now, that it wasn’t. Umm, dudes, every time I loaded the score the other team had a million new points, and you guys had 3.
In the past, I might have taken this whole thing up with Jay Cutler. After all, he’s supposed to be Jesus Christ in a jersey – it’s in his contract. And his initials.
But I’ve accepted that he’s not. Trust me. He’s proven that over. and over. and over. He’s no where NEAR Jesus. or Favre. Or Manning.
I get it.
But a loss this horrid is on all of you. ALL. OF. YOU.
Call me idealistic, but I tend to believe that any team can get the W next to a game as long as they try hard enough and work together. It’s the American way. Any girl can get any guy. Anybody can become president. And any team can win any game. (See: Super Bowl circ. 2008)
But you weren’t even TRYING Sunday. I watched the lowlights. I know. See, I’m not expecting you to win all the time. I’m just expecting that you’ll keep it within a 30-point spread.
And that means you HAVE to try. Every play. Every drive. Otherwise the other team wins – as you may have noticed.
Now, don’t think I’m giving up on you guys. Far from it. I still have faith in Lovie Smith (with a name like “Lovie” how could I not?) And I still think you have potential. After all, you beat the Steelers and the Steelers beat the almighty Vikings. Basic math tells you that means you could, in theory, one day beat the Vikings. (I kinda hope that one day is two days – Nov. 29 and Dec. 28).
Also, you have some home games coming up, and they’ll be plenty of good vibes to feed off of (which I know you like).
But just in case you were confused as to how this whole football thing works – people start hating you when you lose by anything more than say, 3 points. And I don’t want people to hate you. I want them to love you.
So I will make a commitment to watch every game, if you, in turn, will commit to two simple things: Trying really hard, and drinking Red Bull at the half. And the start. And at the 2-minute warning.
I think it’ll work.
And if not, there’s always next year.
(A little less) love,
p.s. None of this applies to Robbie Gould. He’s still awesome. That is all.