Acid Pussy Vegas (first scene)

Scene: The office of Dr. Schmidt.  Ryan’s feet are in metal stirrups and she is staring up at the ceiling counting tiles.

Dr. Schmidt is placed between her knees wearing a band around his head that has a small light attached.  He is focused intently on her crotch.

“Just relax,” he told her yet again.  He had just inserted the speculum after squirting a big dollup of KY Jelly on the instrument.

“CLICK CLICK.” The speculum opened so wide she thought something was going to rip down there.  As if I could relax while he is poking foreign objects inside of me and staring into my crotch.

“Holy shit!” she heard nurse Hilde swear.  The second thing she heard was the distinct sound of metal hitting the floor.  The nurse lost her grip on the instrument tray sending everything crashing down.

Ryan jerked up in shock and slid backward on the exam table causing Dr. Schmidt to lose his balance and almost fall off his little round stool.

Once Dr. Schmidt recovered he gave Nurse Hilde a meaningful look.

“Could we be a bit more professional, nurse?”

“What is it?”  Ryan asked.  She knew by their reactions it couldn’t be anything good.

Dr. Schmidt held up the speculum, or what was left of it, for Ryan to see.  She peered at it between her knees.

“This is serious,” he told her.  It was obvious that he was trying hard to keep his face neutral.

“Have you been traveling recently?”

“No, not at all.”  Ryan didn’t know why he would ask that question and she didn’t like it.

“Well, has anyone you know been outside the country recently,” he continued.

“My boyfriend Michael just got back from Japan but…  Why do you ask?”
Ryan felt a cold lump begin to form inside her.  It made her shiver.  She was sure she didn’t want to be in Dr. Schmidt’s exam room anymore.  Ryan knew that she absolutely didn’t want to hear his next words.

Dr. Schmidt sighed.

“There isn’t a polite way to say this dear, so I’ve just got to say it.  I think you’ve been infected with the Black Syphilis, it’s a rare strain not found in this country.  But it is quite common in Asia.”

“Are you trying to tell me that Michael gave me a disease?”  Her voice raised several octaves to a pitch that only dogs could hear. The good doctor nodded sadly.

“You may want to have a chat with one of my colleagues who’s specialty is this sort of problem. “ He handed Ryan a business card with a strange name written on the front that sounded German. Dr. Kurz, it said.

Dr. Schmidt stood up and removed the exam gloves he’d been using.  The fingertips of the gloves were melted away.

“I’m sorry to tell you there is no cure for this Ryan, but if anyone can help it’s that man,” he gestured to the card in her hand.

He apologized again and wished her luck before exiting with Nurse Hilde.

It was completely unbelievable.  News of Michael’s infidelity was as shocking as the way it was revealed.  Ryan felt numb with disbelief, as she got dressed. She was too surprised to cry.  She could hear Dr. Schimdt discussing her with Nurse Hilde just outside the door.

“The strangest thing about this disease is that the man most likely didn’t even know he had it.  A man can be a carrier without actually being infected himself.”

“Isn’t that a bitch.” was the last thing she heard the nurse say.

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Integrity;someone has to have it!

Earlier last week in a desperate attempt to find a writing job, any writing job I viewed an ad for an editor position with a disgusting liberal magazine that I wouldn’t normally lay my hands on.  I am speaking of SKIRT! 

I used to wade through the vapid drivel of SKIRT! in order to get a feel of what they published.  It is extremely difficult to write something for them as they refuse to tell you what the upcoming theme is going to be prior to publication.  But basically if you have a slice of life story about something you did with your kids, or a sappy tearjerker about your grandmother they will most likely publish it.

I have never changed a diaper and I’m not married and that stuff is about 99.9% of the material in the magazine.  So basically I never bothered to submit to them since my stories wouldn’t be sappy enough to appeal to their very narrow focus group. 

The magazine has a stand in our cafeteria and since I am sometimes stuck at my desk I pick it up.  That was until I read the “bravo ” and “it’s a shame,” section one day.  There was a very derogatory comment about Sarah Palin in regards to her special needs child.  I was appalled.  Not that this crap rectangle trash that calls itself a magazine would say something derogatory about her, but that they would involve her child.  How disgusting.

I consider Sarah Palin an American hero.  She is one of the few women and people in general I can actually look up too.  If you’re going to criticize her or her policy that’s fine but leave her son out of it.  I put SKIRT! down and didn’t pick it up for a long time.

I saw the ad last week and thought that maybe I could just work for them collect a paycheck and keep my mouth shut.  When they talked by the coffee maker about what an awesome job Obama is doing and how great FREE HEALTHCARE is going to be, I could just refuse to acknowledge it.  I picked up the rag again today and skipped past the first few pages of ads.

The first story was something about traveling to China and I won’t mention the authors name for privacy purposes.  I always like to look at the bottom and see where else the author might have beenn published.  This was when I immediately threw this issue in the trash can. 

Under the authors listing of credentials she had “blog contributor to The Huffington Post.”  I nearly vomited inside my mouth. I’m not reading anything that supports writers who work for that ridiculous blog that acts like it’s a legitimate news source.  That blog is devoid of actual fact and promotes ignorance.  The fact that SKIRT! is promoting a person who writes for The Huffington Post speaks volumes to me.  I would rather remain on an island by myself unpublished and broke than give them one minute of my time or do anything to promote their success.

Hard Knock Life for me!

I went to see the musical Annie past Saturday at the Savannah Childrens Theater with a friend.  It was a favorite from my childhood and something that I regularly tortured my parents with.  I am surprised at how easily I could recall the lyrics to those songs.  “Hard Knock Life,” was just as enjoyable to me now as it was then.  And now that I’ve heard it again, it’s stuck in my head and shows no signs of leaving.

During the intermission I waited in the bathroom line of 30 women deep plus their children.  A lady was in front of me dressed in a snow white outfit and her little blonde daughter of maybe eight years old, was wearing a matching outfit.  I was a little jealous.  I want to wear a princess dress and giant bows in my hair for no other reason than the fun of it!  To me this is the one good argument for having kids.  You get to have a second childhood.

Although I did enjoy it, by the time Annie finally ended I had heard “Tomorrow,” enough times to last me the rest of my life; and also my butt was numb.  The show was two hours long and it was the second one they put on that day!  I could only wonder at what times the cast member were getting to bed.  At least it wasn’t a school night.

I have to say I felt proud of myself for doing something besides just going to a bar and drinking too much.  I felt that the ticket price of $20 was a bit steep but the cheapness of snacks, (most being only a dollar) helped to make up for this.

In the song “Hard Knock Life,” they talk about being hungry and cold all the time and getting kicked instead of kisses.  I can identify with this because of my recent ordeal that left me without any hot water, working stove or  heat.  I did not, however, get kicked or kissed by anyone.

Basically my entire apartment ran off gas and I didn’t know.  I thought it was only the stove and for some reason that stove was on when I moved in. I just decided to go with it and hope that no one noticed.  Last Thursday someone noticed and cut me off. I didn’t think too much of this because I rarely cook anything.  But when I got home I noticed that the thermostat says 61 degrees.  Then I try to take a shower and it quickly moves from luke warm to freezing ass cold.  I jumped out still half covered with soap, sticky with ice cubes forming on my nipples.

I packed a bag and escaped to the warm refuge of my boyfriends attic room for the night. I didn’t know it would turn into five nights!  It took that long for me to get an appointment with the gas company.  So basically I lived in his upstairs room and came home to my frozen apartment to get more clothes each day.  One day I got sick of all the back and forth and attempted a shower.

Bad idea.  I think I nearly gave myself hypothermia.  I thought it would be okay if I prepared myself mentally first and got really hot.  I wasn’t ready.  I guess I’ll never be able to join the Polar Bear Club.  Damn.