And One Week Later

As I was lying face down on the table with my bare ass up in the air, and sadly, there are many such occasions in my past so I can't be entirely certain but I'm pretty sure I never said to a roomful of people staring at me, "You know, I have a big Hollywood blog. If this surgery goes well, they'll all hear your name, if not..." Of course there was nervous laughter.

Mainly from me.

At 8 pm that night my doctor called me at home and I sounded fine, mainly because I was still high. Then he said, "Sooooooo, apparently you have a blog? Where can I see it?"

All I could think about was the picture of Eliot Spitzer and the word Penis from the cover of New York Magazine, all of which I had posted the day of my surgery, wherein I was equipped with certain flammables to make sure I burned in hell. I then remembered the article below the Spitzer picture.

"Uhhh, Google?"
"Oh. My. God," he said.
"I'm a uh, a comedian, and we really don't have any feelings at all..."
"No, no, no."
"Or brains..."
"No! You're hilarious. You really are."

Uh, duh?

Two days later he called and said, "Yeah, look, you've been away from the blog for 3 days, time to get back to it, don't you think?"

So Dr. - No Last Name Soup for you. Until I'm walking on heels and then I'll tell everyone what a genius you are.

In other surgery news, I felt like I was going to die on day 3-5. I really hate drugs and the fact that I can say that, after all that I took when I was younger, is amazing. But at one point I was cutting a Vicoden in half and just started to cry. It was official, I was my parents. And everybody else's parents and had been for a long time. Is this why people start having babies? Because they're just too old to get high?

And in other news, the behind the scenes convos chez Soro between McLosertene and me.
"I feel like shit."
"Yes, I know that, you've said it 567 traquallion times."
"Why do you want to hate like that? Can you get me a snack cup while you're in the kitchen?"
"I'm not IN the kitchen; I'm here with you."
"Well then you'd better get going, no?"
"FINE."
"Before you go, can you pass me that thing?"
"What thing?"
"The thing by the other thing."
"This?"
"Is that blue?"
"You didn't say it was blue."
"That's because you're a hater."
"And I hate blue?"
"See, I told you you did."
"Here's the real story, YOU'RE the REAL McLosertene and none of your readers know what a giant pain in the ass you are."

Oh they know Louise, they know.

End of chat.