I had TWO odd-for-anyone-but-me encounters yesterday.
Photo: A bike ride on the sand. Spring! Orange County, CA
First, I drove a half hour to see The Neanderthal for PT.
I hadn’t been to PT in two weeks, due to extenuating circumstances. I really NEEDED him to work on me.
When I arrived at PT, I discovered The Neanderthal still hadn’t returned from his skiing vacation.
(And WHOOPS he forgot to tell me he’d be gone one extra day.)
An hour of pointless driving – an hour lost out of my very busy day – for nothing.
I was left still in I’ve-Been-Overdoing-It-With-My-Camera pain when I’d been expecting some relief.
The Neanderthal and I communicate fairly frequently via text and/or Facebook (even when he’s on vacation – and even while he’s been on THIS vacation) so how could he have “forgotten?”
Miffed, I sent him the following text:
Hey asshole – I just showed up for an appt with you. : (
Some people would be upset receiving a text like that, but not The Neanderthal.
I won’t bore you with every word of the Text-Fight that followed,
But, basically, he said, “I told you ….”
And I said, “No, you didn’t and here’s the proof ….”
And he (eventually) said, “I’m sorry. I apologize. I’m driving back to California right now. Want to see me in the morning?”
And I said, “No, I never want to see you again!”
And he said, “So, Friday instead?”
And I said, “I’m in pain. And you’re a PITA!”
And he said, “Okay, then I’ll see you in the morning.”
And I said, “Okay.”
This entire he said/she said exchange makes perfect sense to anyone who knows me, right?
Of course, there had to be an extra dose of humor injected somewhere into our conversation.
In an attempt to apologize for screwing up my appointment, The Neanderthal sent a text saying:
I’ll throw in a complimentary percussion session.
You might be asking, what is percussion?
Percussion is a GIANT dildo-ish tool. The Neanderthal holds it against people and it vibrates so much it relaxes them;
Picture a giant vibrator.
Everyone (meaning me, myself and I?) makes jokes about the giant THING.
By the way, it is NOT a tool * ever * used on me because its intense vibration would loosen the wires and electrodes in my body.
I texted back:
24: You can’t do percussion on me, I’m bionic.
The Neanderthal: I can do it on your lower body.
24: Promises, promises.
The Neanderthal: Ha ha!
24: I expect earth shaking lower body percussion. Also? Say hi to your wife.
The Neanderthal: You got it!
At the very same time our text message exchange was winding down, I received an email from a lawyer at “my” firm.
The email led to My Life Isn’t Normal Encounter #2 for the day.
First of all, I always cringe the moment an email from my lawyer(s) arrives in my Inbox.
A year or two ago, a friend connected me with one of Southern California’s top law firms.
They’ve handled all sorts of Twenty Four At Heart legal crap for me.
Periodically, I’ll see Blah, Blah, Blah Very Important Law Firm show up on my blog statistics program and I’ll know the law firm has been looking at 24 that particular day.
(Some company names show up in my stats, but only if the company’s computers have been set up to “share” this information. I promise I don’t have access to any private information about YOU.)
When I see “my” law firm on my blog,
It often means there’s some sort of problem. Someone, somewhere, is stealing my stuff or something. They only get on 24 to do fact checking, etc.
One lawyer from the firm, in particular, seems to visit 24 the most often.
The firm name will show up on my stat program, and shortly after, I’ll get an email from him regarding some legal issue.
(That’s how I know it’s HIM reading 24, and not one of the other lawyers at the firm. I have met/talked to/worked with several different lawyers there.)
This particular lawyer is a Yale graduate, all buttoned-up and very proper.
Every time Yale Lawyer visits 24, I coincidentally seem to have just posted something about my nipples (or worse).
Every. Single. Time.
I write about photography. I write about life in Orange County. I write about travel. I write about chronic pain, and my life post-accident.
I write about all sorts of things.
Mr. Lawyer only seems to stop in when I’m writing about my body parts.
(And yes, it IS just a coincidence – he isn’t leisurely reading 24 every day while he’s at work.)
Mind you, I pretend to be a grown-up business woman when I work with these lawyers in real life.
I even dress in real grown-up clothes when I go to their office.
(It isn’t often I wear grown-up clothes. I have a strong aversion to wearing anything other than sweats/jeans/shorts and flip flops.)
Yesterday, once again, I saw the law firm had been visiting 24.
Moments later, I got the email from Yale Lawyer.
(Of course, the post about Grandpa seeing my nipples had just published that morning.)
I decided to confront my embarrassment, instead of (once again) just blushing profusely at my computer screen.
After several emails back and forth regarding a legal issue he’s attending to, I wrote:
It always seems we’re discussing business on the days I’ve written posts about my nipples?
His reply ….
Yes. I saw that, again. It’s good to laugh around here once in awhile.
I’m now picturing all the lawyers I’ve met at the firm, standing around Yale Lawyer’s desk.
I imagine them reading 24, and laughing about the latest trouble my nipples have gotten into.
My life –
It’s such a strange reality.