Lessons in object permanence with Farley the senile dog

Farley jumps around in the passenger seat of the car, barking out the window and scratching at the door.

Me: What are you doing?

Farley: Barking! I need to get your attention! Yarp! Yarp! Yarp!

Me: You're barking out the window. How will that get my attention?

Farley: I'm barking at YOU, the you in the car next to us! Yarp! Yarp!

Me: But I'm right here next to you! There's no other me, pup. That's just a lady that looks kind of like me.

Farley: But I see you in that car...see, look! Yellowhair girl, that's you, and I love you. Don't leave me, Yellowhair girl! Yarp!

Me: There's only one of me, dog. I'm right here. See?

Farley: You are here, that is true. Then I turn my head and you are there too, with your yellow hair. You are so quick! I don't want any of you to leave me. Look, you're getting away! Follow you!

Me: (covers Farley's eyes with my cupped right hand)

Farley: Oh no. The lights went out. I will wait.

......

pant pant pant...

.....

turn signal, click, click, click...

.....

Me: (removes hand)

Farley: Ok! lights on! Where is it??

Me: Where is what?

Farley: What I was looking at just now?? I forget. Remind me.

Me: Mmmmnope. Nothing.

Farley: I feel awfully excited. Are you sure? Was it a bird? A bicycle man?

Me: Before the lights went out, you were just looking out the window, quietly enjoying the breeze.

Farley: Yes, I do enjoy breeze. Wait! What's that? It's your car over there! I see your car! Let's go for a ride! I wanna go for a ride!!

Me: You are IN my car, we are riding in the car right this very second.

Farley: Where? I don't see the car we are in?!

Me: Because you are IN it.

Farley: If I cannot see the car, how can I be IN it? If I cannot see the car, it doesn't exist, and it is impossible to be IN a car that doesn't exist. Listen to me now. The car is there. I want to get in the car because I love rides. Let me out of this little house.

Me: The car is right here. That is a car that looks like my car, which you are in right now.

Farley: Okay fine, the car is here. But it is there. Mostly, your car is there, I can see it. Wait, pull over, I see Yellowhair girl again walking down the street, I need to tell her something real quick. Please, Yellowhair girl, let me out so I can go greet Yellowhair girl!!

Me: There is only one Yellowhair girl, dog, and she is me. Turn around, I'm right here!

Farley: WANNA GO FOR RIDE! YARPYARPYARP! DON'T LEAVE ME, YELLOWHAIR GIRL!!

Me: (cups hand over his eyes)

Farley: Uh Oh. Lights out. I will wait.

She fingered my butt, and insurance paid for it all. Everyone wins.

There is only one rule in the waiting room of the Center for Colorectal Health. 

And it is this: There is no waiting room of the Center for Colorectal Health. If you find yourself there, you were never there. Neither was I. 

But just in case you forget that rule and find yourself in this non-existent waiting room in the Center for Colorectal Health, there's a second rule, which is: 

In the waiting room of the Center for Colorectal Health, keep your eyes down at all times.

Lots of ass-shame in that room. So much ass-shame.

I couldn't quite see too well on account of following rule 2, so the memory is sketchy due to my weak peripheral vision and tendency to imagine things that might or might not have been real, but I'm pretty sure everyone there but me was in disguise. There was Guy in Black Unitard Wearing a Monocle and a Beret, who sat in the corner and twisted his fake handlebar mustache while mumbling things like "Sacre Bleu!" and "Vive la revolution!!" and "Croissant? Eh huh-huh-huh-huh? Oui?" behind his People magazine. I wasn't buying it.

There was Guy in Polo Shirt who brought his own set of golf clubs and kept practicing his swing and yelling, "Yes!! Nailed it!" and asking the receptionist in a loud, obvious voice, "Do you happen to know when my best pal the other doctor in this office besides me, his friend and esteemed colleague, will be ready for our GOLF GAME that we are having after he's done with these *dismissive wave* people with problems?" to which she'd reply, "Has your butt donut deflated again, sir? Please have a seat."

There was a patient who crept into the office holding an empty refrigerator box over his body, quietly accompanied by plinky cartoon secret-tiptoe music in an attempt to throw us all off, quickly setting his disguise down on the floor and playing the old "abandoned refrigerator box" trick every time somebody looked up. He didn't fool me though, I could see him looking around behind the eyeholes he had cut out. Good ruse, though, box guy.

I didn't wear a costume because I didn't know about the ass-shame ahead of time, but I did pose as "The busiest and most important texter in the universe" and "Woman who misplaced the cure for cancer in her wallet" and "Woman whose thoughtful introspection has transported her to a realm of inner peace that few mortals have ever known."

It bothered me that I was the only woman in there. I'm pretty sure they all assumed I'd been having shitloads of anal sex, which I haven't by the way. So to prove it I cleared my throat and said "Hey you guys, quick poll! Raise your hand if you hate anal sex!" and raised my hand, so crisis averted, ass-virtue preserved.

But just in case, to make my point clear, I borrowed a post-it pad from the receptionist and made some signs for my ass, and then sauntered casually around the room for a bit.

They brought me into an exam room early. 

Inside the exam room was a plastic model of a cross-section of an asshole, which happened to have been afflicted with every possible ailment known to ass. 

Finally the doctor arrived.

Doctor: Hi, I'm Dr. Beth. (Holds out hand to shake)

Me: Ah...Oh...you know what? (Holding hands up) Wet hands. (Oh well)

Doctor: So...tell me a little about why you're here.

Me: Um...really? I think that's for me to know and you to find out. 

Doctor: ...

Me: *intimidating fake-out shoulder thrust*

Doctor: You're not going to tell me why you're here?

Me: I'll tell you to mind your own fucking business is what I'll tell you.

Doctor: Don't be embarrassed! Come on, how am I supposed to help you if you won't tell me what's wrong?

Me: 20 questions?

Doctor: You want me to guess?

Me: I'll say hot or cold.

Doctor: How about you just tell me.

Me: Two truths and a lie?

Doctor: One truth, no lies.

Me: Split the difference? One truth, one lie, and one lie of omission?

Doctor: You've never been to a colorectal specialist before, have you?

Me: Hey! I'm thinking of an even number between 1 and 100...

Doctor: 82.

Me: Yes. That's right. (Sigh.) Please don't stick your finger up my ass.

Doctor: You know what? Let's just talk for a bit, get to know each other. 

Me: I'm scared. I've never...done this before.

Doctor: Don't worry, you're safe here. (snaps on rubber gloves)

The thing is...the thing that gets me...the thing about this experience that haunts me...is that...what you don't expect is that...

*lip tremble*

*bravely wipes eyes with forearm*

You know how in movies, they bend you over the table? I was ready for that. 

And you know how at the gyno, they put your legs up in stirrups? I could've handled that.

But what she did was...she rolled me onto my side and told me to pull my legs up to my chest. Then she stuck her jellied finger up my butt while I lay in the fetal position, which is like tucking someone into bed with their teddy bear and a cup of hot cider and nestling them in the arms of the tooth fairy as Santa sits at the foot of the bed making his list and checking it twice and telling you that you've been a good girl and then surprise! Look over there! It's your Nana giving a donkey a hand job! Yeah, see? Confused feelings is right!

Once I was able to calm down and stop shrieking "Oh my God! I'm pooping right now! Poop coming out I can feel it for real this time!!" every time she got her fingertip half an inch in, her finger was only up there long enough for me to groan, "I don't liiiike this one little biiiiiittttttt...." and then it was done, but fetal position is forever ruined.

Sorry, yoga cooldown. 

Sorry, restful catnaps.

Sorry, in utero soothing night sounds CD.

Doctor's orders involved buying lots of things at the drug store that are usually reserved for old people, and lots of things that are usually reserved for babies, and basically confusing the hell out of my asshole to the point that it just settles the fuck down. Break it down with harsh words, and then build it back up with compliments until I've got it wrapped around my little finger, so to speak. I'm gonna be my asshole's Ike Turner, giving it the back of my hand and screaming, "I'll TELL you what's love got to do with it, bitch!!" *SMACK!* And then giving it a diamond tennis bracelet and cooing, "You know you're my best asshole. My ONLY asshole. You know you shouldn't make me mad like that, baby." This Ike and Tina thing isn't part of the doctor's orders, but I can read between the lines. It's what she DIDN'T prescribe that counts.

But she did say I need to chew my almonds better. That makes sense I guess.

Awesomely Bad High School Diary, Vol 3: This disease is tearing us apart

This third installment of Awesomely Bad High School Diary is deeply embarrassing. It's not the handjob talk, or the "fingering", or the boners, or any of that. It's the political anti-war poetry that has me squirming. I posted it because it makes me laugh really hard, but for the first time ever, I'm cringing.

I'm returning the diaries to the memory trunk, but I might update later, because I know there's something about a botched handjob in there, I just can't find the page right now.

In Volume 1 Becky made a metaphor about love and fish and boats and then crowned herself best poet in the history of the universe, and then dumped Brad for Andy because he could draw a skull like nobody's business.

Next, in Volume 2 Becky invented the "first base threesome," left Andy for Kevin, and all of her friends have bowling ball holes for vaginas.

Now, Volume 3: Becky's metaphorical boat encounters some rough seas, due to bad weather caused by mono and chicken pox. Becky and Kevin, also fish in this mixed metaphor, contemplate putting their fins down each other's fish pants.

My commentary in red.

Go:

Kevin has mono. He said he got it from the air, but he's so full of shit. I can't believe he scammed on me. He's mad at me now because I think he scammed on me.

Poem for Kevin:

Procrastination

Feeling inspired (Oh Jesus. Again?)

Waiting for the call

Can't concentrate

Don't let it end

Distractions from you

Call Courtney after

hang up with me

1/2 hour ago (Yes, that's a fraction. Jealous, Maya Angelou?)

Call back please

It won't hurt.

Why not?

Help me.

Trapped.

Isolation.

Solitude.

Nobody. (Could you clarify please? Are you with people right now?)

Alone. (Oh, ok. Got it. Thanks.)

This disease

is tearing

us

apart. (Yeah, AIDS called and wants you to shut the fuck up.)

Five days later...

Ok, me and Kevin didn't break up. I was just making a big deal out of nothing. He was just ignoring me because he was obsessed with football. He's practically over his mono now and I want to kiss him so bad but I can't unless I use Saran Wrap over his face or something.

Mr. Jeffs called me in for suspected plagiarism and I would have got a zero if he had bought the Cliff Notes and checked but he didn't so I got a B+.

Guess what? I got chicken pox. This is the most vomitous experience ever. I just sit here all day, and at this moment there are non-chicken pox healthy people dancing on Club MTV. Fuck them! I think chicken pox affects my emotions because when I look in the mirror I get soooooo depressed. Kevin sent me a teddy bear in a basket with 3 balloons tied to it. This is the first get well package I've ever got. I was so happy when I got this. I don't know how to thank him. I want to try to just give him a hand job but I don't know if that would make him uncomfortable or not.

Kevin just measured his dick on the phone with me. He kept on saying it was 7 inches and I said I didn't believe him and he said "Ok, I'll measure it. Erect or normal?" so I chose erect, and he said, "How do I make it erect?" and I said, "Come on, don't tease me! All guys know how to make it erect. Give yourself a hand job!" and he said, "Ok, I'll make it erect, but it's hard to make it erect on the phone. I'll call you back later and tell you how big it gets and the difference in size between regular and erect."

Saddam is insane. Today he dropped missiles on Israel. This is NOT GOOD. I'm too young to die. They shot down more than 3 American planes. I broke my diet when I heard this. Good thing Saddam has no nuclear bombs! (I HOPE!!!) Why do we have such fucking insane leaders??? I think Beth did ecstacy.

Here's a poem I wrote in my free period today:

WAR! (Oh no. *Pulls hoodie over head, yanks drawstrings tight*)

Traffic stops

Children have nightmares

News programs invade our thoughts

Men in green, laden with sand have chapped lips

and at home...blood pressure rises as hairlines recede.

Big George is mad because Saddam took his Oreos. (Oh God no. I want to go back in time and give my mom an abortion.)

When he threatens a punch,

Saddam throws sand in his face. (Groan...)

Big George takes his missiles and throws them far, (Missiles in one hand, Oreos in the other, keep up people.)

while Saddam runs away crying.

they both poise their nuclear weapons

and prepare

to kill each other. (Takes another bong rip.)

The power lays in the hands

of two children

having fun

with their

bombs. (Get it? Because they are soooooo immature. Saddam and Bush both need to grow up. Maybe I'll make a mixed tape about it. I'll put "Give Peace a Chance" on it, and also "In Your Eyes" because that song rules.)

Next time we're alone I'm going to give Kevin a hand job. I want to so badly. I don't want him to finger me. I'm scared he's going to, even though I'll be pulling his hand away. I hope not, I'm praying not. He could so overpower me if he wanted, like when he sits on my face with a pillow and I can't breathe. He's really strong.

Click here for the final installment, volume 4.

*****

PS: Still really embarrassed about the Saddam/Oreos poem.

And Dolphinhead Seizuredog says thanks for the well-wishes.

Awesomely Bad High School Diary, Vol 2: Sensual Boob Honks and Suspiciously Clammy Fingers

It turns out re-reading old high school diaries is a good distraction from the impending death of Dolphinhead Seizuredog. She's panty and happy and generous with her stinky kisses today. Also, lots of loopy walking around, crashing into shit, collapsing, and leaking pee down her fluffy ass-fur knickers, like maybe a dog version of what I imagine Liza Minelli on a bender to look like.

Now I can't stop thinking about Liza Minelli's ass-fur knickers.

Alright, back to the diary...

Continued from Part One, in which Becky's love for "lame geek" Brad fades, only to be replaced by her love for Andy, who "doesn't ever get white gunk in the corners of his mouth".

As Part Two of our saga begins, the outlook is grim for Andy, as our heroine develops reservations about their budding relationship after meeting newcomer Kevin, who she suspects she "might love just as much or even more than the other two" and who also has "floppy Keanu Reeves hair".

Once again, my commentary in red.

Here we go:

June 30--At the party, Kevin was lighting matches and I kept blowing them out so he stole my shoes and grabbed my leg and I couldn't get away. Kim said Andy thought I was flirting with Kevin. I feel bad. I asked Andy if he thought I was flirting and he said no. Then I sat on the couch between Andy and Kevin, and while Andy had his hand down my bathing suit top and was squeezing my boob, Kevin was holding my hand on the other side. It was really confusing. I'm not sure if we were holding hands as just friends or not.

July 3--Andy left for camp today. I'm sad but Kevin is so fucking cute! If I weren't going out with Andy, these are the guys I'd like:

1) Kevin

2) ?

Aug 10--Kim invited me and Kevin and Josh over to her house on the 10th, and Kim got fingered. Kevin is sooo prude shy. Not that I'd want to get fingered. I love him so much, even though I wasn't sure at the beginning of the relationship, and I don't mind if he's prude shy. He wrote me a poem and left it on my machine and I copied it onto a blank tape but I THINK I JUST TAPED CROWDED HOUSE OVER IT!! FUCK SHIT FUCK SHIT FUCK!!!

Sept 25--Saturday I turned 14 and three-fourths, and I got what I wanted. I kissed Kevin. We kissed for about ten minutes. His top braces were annoying the right side of my lip. He was a good kisser at first but then he kept his mouth open and didn't move his lips for a very long time. Beth got fingered tonight in the other room! Jesus. Did I have any friends WITHOUT fingers in their vaginas?

Oh great, "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" is playing on MTV now, and my stomach is twisted up thinking of Kevin.

Ode to Kevin.

I know a guy

whose dark hair and green eyes

make me shiver inside

when he faithfully sighs. (This line didn't make the cut. I have high standards.)

Every time he leaves

I dream he's here

and hold my pillow

and shed lose a tear. (Good call. "Shed" is such a cliche.)

After all that's happened

the bad ends here. (No more bad. Finally. Phew! I hate bad.)

together at last, I've no more fears.

I'd stop the world to keep him close,

but as the one before, he comes and goes. (Pronounced "ghos" so it rhymes.)

I can't think of life without

because my thoughts belong to him,

and if he leaves he'll take my thoughts,

then he'll turn to Kim. (SO lucky to have a bff with a good rhymey name. This was beyond helpful all through my high school poetry career. Also, he totally turned to Kim. So, foreshadowing! Nailed it!!)

Maybe he will never leave

Maybe it will be me

the future will soon pass

and what will pass will be. (Wise words coming from a girl who, ten pages later, wanted to "Go back in time and give Kevin's mom an abortion.")

I'd grab the moon

and hand it to you,

I'd hold the stars

and give them too. (Good. Verb variety. That fixes everything.)

you will be a memory, or stay more than just a thought,

whatever becomes of us,

I'll love you.

(That's it? I'll love you?? What happened to the whole AABB-ABCBDB-BCC-ABAB-AABA rhyme scheme I had going there? High school Becky clearly had some kind of attention disor...whoa, that's weird. The cartilage at the end of my nose has a split down the middle. Is that just me?)

CLICK HERE FOR VOLUME 3

Awesomely Bad High School Diary, Vol 1

Dolphinhead Seizuredog's up to her old tricks again, that attention whore. All seizey and mouth-foamy and me!me!me! and seriously though, I can't focus on anything because she's breaking my heart with this slow dying business.

So, for the next few days, or maybe just for today, who knows, because I bore easily and fear commitment, I'll be transcribing and posting embarrassing excerpts and awesomely bad poetry from my high school diaries, which I just found in my "memory trunk" (shut up, I'm sentimental). If I decide I just don't care anymore, or if I get drunk or eat too many Kit-Kats again and start making bad decisions, I may post accompanying awkward high school photos.

My commentary in red.

Here we go:

Ode to Brad. (and/or Andy) Parentheses added months later, when I decided I felt similarly about Andy and was too lazy to write a new poem. This is the "Candle in the Wind" of bad high school poetry.

When we were together

I couldn't remember life w/o you,

Now it's like it was before

And I still forget sometimes

that if I died you wouldn't cry.

How could you just stop loving me,

I never did.

I loved you then and I love you now.

We're too young for commitment (Love poem fail)

You were my first (tongue kiss, FYI), and it would be sad

if you were my only,

because there were many before me,

and I felt like your first,

but I was just another fish in your tank.(awesome metaphor)

We are too young now,

but maybe later we won't be.(Maybe. Who knows.)

I'd rather stay young w/o you.(I had an imaginary haggling game going with God regarding not growing older. I usually lost.)

In your eyes, I see your past,

and the fish to come, (I saw fish in his eyes.)

but my boat has sailed on. (YES! Nailed it! I didn't think that fish metaphor could get any better.)

TO ANYONE WHO READS THIS!!!! I DON'T LIKE BRAD!!!! THIS IS HOW I FELT TWO MONTHS AGO!!! OK???? BRAD IS A GEEK!!!

TO ANYONE WHO READ THIS: I AM NOT THE SAPPY EMOTIONAL BASKETCASE THIS POEM SAYS I AM. I WAS JUST BORED AND FEELING INSPIRED!!!

We went to a play last night and Melissa and Emily were pushing me towards Andy to say goodbye and he gave me a picture he drew of a flaming skull chewing an eyeball. He's so sweet. I really like him now. I wouldn't get back together with Brad now if someone paid me $200,000. He had white slime in the corners of his mouth. It was gross. I can't believe I ever went out with him, he's such a geek. It makes me angry what a geek he is.

We went into the village with Damien and Eric and Beth yesterday. Damien was nice at the beginning but then he started slapping me on the face and he almost broke my fingers playing mercy, and he also looked up my shorts. I think he's really cute. I think he likes Beth though. Beth is SUCH A FAKE, but she has good intentions.

Oh, I forgot. On the 10th of June I had my first kiss with Andy. He doesn't know what he's doing and he was nervous because it was his first. I liked it because I got all shivery because I love him. We kissed on "Stairway to Heaven". Then "Forever Young" by Alphaville started playing and it was kind of ironic because I don't want to grow up. If I had one wish, I'd stop time and keep this summer forever. I just kind of realized that everything dies and the world still goes on. I would break up with Andy if God would let me stay this age forever.

Ode to Andy.

You seem so innocent

It was hard for you to try to lose

this image.

But you did

and everything's different now

better.

Now you're leaving for camp

Please don't scam on me

Because I don't think my heart

could take it

again.

CLICK HERE TO CONTINUE TO VOLUME 2