Last Saturday was kinda hectic for me. Because I'm such a mensch, I helped Orange Peel move house. I'm that sort of friend - the kind who never calls or hangs out with you but is always among the first to help you move. It's kind of a thing now. The following conversation has taken place at more than one cocktail party:"Ooooh, yeah. (******* and) I (are) am moving house next week and I'm at a bit of a short end. No decent moving company can schedule (us) me in."
"I say...."
"Can you recommend anyone good?"
"Actually, I do. You should call Dax. He's got safety boots."
"Oh really? Does he do pianos? Mha ha ha."
"Ha ha ha! Can I freshen your drink?"
[Surveys the room] "Which one is Dax then?"
"Sorry! He's the one serving the drinks."
"Oh, I see. Ha. Ha ha ha."
"Ha ha ha."
So that's basically why I get called, because I own decent footwear. But anyway, that load-in and load-out went really well except for the fact that Orange Peel moved in to a walk up, and the landlord would not allow shoes on the carpet. That cut the crew in half, luckily my half had two fit guys to move the settees and I just had to carry heavy boxes or really awkward light stuff.
After scarfing down a beer and burger (payment for services rendered), I had to race home and get the stink off before collecting Ali at the airport. I got there early (big surprise) and waited, watching the gerberas slowly die. Not a Hollywood homecoming by any means. Ali was less interested in seeing me and more interested in making sure all her luggage arrived from Miami.
So we get back home, and my pee was the colour of the beverage in the photo above. Please note: That is not a glass of my actual pee. I do not drink urine. This is not that type of blog. My first thought was that I'd ruptured something during that oh-so-easy move, but it didn't quite make sense. I woke up Sunday and the same thing happened. I was getting a little worried. I had another cup of tea and everything went back to normal. Problem solved. Or so I thought.
Tuesday morning I started to get a familiar pain in my lower gut. It couldn't be kidney stones because a locum told me that I had passed it in August. I wasn't going back to the clinic because I'm not working now so I don't have medical coverage. Finally the pain was so bad that I decided the hit to my wallet was worth it and schlepped to the clinic. It turns out that what the stupid doctor told me was not exactly what he wrote in my file, and in fact he misinformed me of the results of an earlier CT scan. He told me that I was fine and that I must have passed the stone. Stupid fuck. That's what happens when you wait three weeks before discussing test results with someone else's patients. Of course they're going to be asymptomatic. At the very least, their symptoms would be indicative of something else either much better or much worse. Stupid fuck. If the patient looks okay, that doesn't necessarily mean that the problem has been resolved. I told Tuesday's doctor (if you're keeping count, that's three doctors because my regular doctor is away for an extended leave) that the second doctor lied to me, at which point she explained that he didn't exactly lie but perhaps put too much emphasis on the wrong part of the examination. She gave me a prescription for some pain killers and shooed me on my way.
The first one worked, but the second one didn't. I went to class that night, hoping to make up for what happened last week but ended up cutting that class halfway through as well because the pain was coming back strong. Thursday I was fine except for the occasional dull pain, and on Thursday I passed it. I expected it to hurt like hell, but I guess I had a smooth stone because I didn't even notice it.
Ali is all happy for once. When she came home she was a little miffed that she couldn't work on her blog on my computer. After somehow altering the registry to my operating system forever, and doing no good I finally found out how to change my system so that Ali could type in kanji. That got me a bowl of my favourite Japanese ramen. Right now she's prancing around the flat because tonight is the Japanese Grand Prix. She couldn't give a flying fuck about the other 16 races this year - the race at Suzuka is the only one that matters as far as she's concerned. It used to be the final race of the season and much fuss was made because it more often than not decided the championship, but for the last few years Brazil has been bumped down the calendar from first to last on the schedule so there's not so much fanfare at Suzuka.
Alright, that was another post without a movie but we really planned to go see one. Ali really wants to see The Departed, but had me confused because all she told me was that it had Matt Damon and "that old guy from As Good as It Gets. At first I thought she wanted to see The Guardian so I told her to wait a week. After figuring out what movie she actually wanted to watch, I was all geared to catch a matinée of The Guardian but the weather was so nice for October that I didn't want to waste it and Ali had more pressing issues. We schlepped all over midtown looking for index cards(!) and when she finally found some, they were too big. What? Index cards come in a generally uniform size, babe. Just how much are you planning to fit on these cards? Apparently, normal 3 x 5 American index cards are not "Japanese style" and are too clumsy for sensible tastes. There's some really good stuff out there and I promise that the next time I post something on here, it will have some relevance to an actual movie.
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