HauteAir

January 9, 2010

I will never call someone an asshole again without reflection

Filed under: Uncategorized — Otter @ 8:52 am

So, I haven’t posted in a while. I think this is mostly due to the fact that I haven’t had anything interesting to say. No, really. I’ve been emotionally numb for a while. OK, I still am, but perhaps not so much as a was. But here’s the fun part: I’ve learned some stuff.

Through very personal interactions with my wife I’ve learned that I love her more that I thought was possible. I also understand that this is an artifact of prolonged exposure, but, damn, age and experience adds a layer.

Since I’m not modest, I’ll proceed with the following comments. If I have one piece of advice to pass on it would be: find and retain a good colorectal surgeon. Male or female you will, at some point, need one. Unless you blissfully die of a terrorist attack or by some sort of freak stapler accident, you will need one. In my experience they are educated, erudite, and personable human beings. They are trustworthy and forthcoming. They explain processes and procedures with candidness, humanity, and concern. Then…they stick a chainsaw up your ass and hit full throttle. I want that motherfucker to die a thousand deaths. For what it’s worth. What kind of sadistic piece of shit do you have to be to decide, at some point in your medical training, that causing people the most inappropriate and painful forms of debasement is an awesome and admirable career goal? I think I’ve said enough. That being said, I will heal and probably be better for it. I guess that’s something.

Some of my only other lessons have been in the arena of friendship. Here’s the deal with friends. Remember when you were in high school and you were required to declare a “best friend”? Weren’t things so much simpler then? My answer is, yes. Yes, it was simpler. But for a weird reason. Mostly it was because, if you realized that others desired your friendship you had the advantage. It was a power play. You could trade, buy, and sell friendship as a practical commodity. Wasn’t that fun? It was fun because it didn’t actually mean anything. Life goes on and reality sets in and then you start to realize that, without effort, you are alone. Only through effort can you be surrounded by those that care. It’s quite the opposite of high school. In the real world friendship is very much about you and very least about those you wish to be your friends. I don’t bring this up as a bitch. What I mean is that at some point you will realize that people will seldom have a compelling reason to be your friend. You should give them one. If you don’t…well, don’t be surprised. And it is your fault.

I sometimes feel that what I think — as vociferously as I think it — doesn’t matter. Actually, it isn’t sometimes…it’s most of the time. I’m rapidly turning into the “get off my lawn” dickweed that we base entire TV shows (or at least parodies) on. I guess I have a leg up since I recognize it. So here’s what I’m doing to combat this instinct:

Find some awesome people and then pay attention to what they say. I know. It sounds trite. But do it anyway. I am sort of addicted to what other people think now. It doesn’t define my thought process. I’m still fully in charge on my own chemical thought construct. But, damn, other folks have some really interesting things to say.

So, I’m totally envious of my dog’s ability to live in the moment. If you don’t know, I have a 22-ish pound dog named Pascal that I love enormously. He is a dumbass. He is a schemer. He is a playful Loki. He is the embodiment of living in the moment. Here’s what I guess is a roll call of his thoughts in any given time period:

“Toy!!!!” Grabs toy of immediate interest and runs around like idiot. Master draws great pleasure from watching Pascal being entertained for approximately 45 seconds.
“Chew toy!!!!” Of far greater interest than “toy”. Usually constitutes something previously made of cow. This is typically a “go to” solution to eating something of importance (which, of course, he has made inventory of at this point) such as a cell phones, remotes, shoes, electrical cords, laptops, wasps, etc.
“You know what’s better than ‘chew toy’? ‘Chew toy’ in my master’s lap!!!” At which point his electro-glide feet engage and he winds up in master’s lap (with maximum momentum)…because master is sitting in his lounger and…well…his crotch is an inviting landing pad. Master suddenly feels overwhelming desire to kill Pascal and vomit…not necessarily in that order.
“I shall now make myself comfortable by employing some very esoteric laws of physics that involve me concentrating my entire weight upon my master’s scrotum in some sort of doggie comfort dance…which I will cease and become instantly comfortable as soon as my master screams ‘FUCK!!!'”
“Wait 2 minutes and quietly chew on my former cow parts. Decide that the master scrotum has recovered enough for another dance. Dance. Wonder why my master is grabbing me rather excitedly about the neck.”
“Cow-tow and show subservience. Increase cuteness to level 10. Make sure that body is positioned in any way that blocks my master’s TiVo remote line of sight.”

Repeat.

God, I wish I was a dog.

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