Blogging on Cold Meds OR How I Should Hide in a Closet While I'm Sick

Sick again.  Sinusitis for those of you who have to know.  The actual definition for sinusitis is: Your entire face feels like it will simultaneously blow up and fall off and implode all at the same time plus lots of mucus.

Therefore...wait for it...I decided to voluntarily go to the doctor.  Since it's Sunday, it's urgent care for me.  Whee.  That should be a song.  Sing it, baby.  It's urgent care for me.  It's where I want to be.  It's the only one for me.  Me and the doctor, so happy together.  (They've been playing Happy Together in some commercial a lot and it's really stuck in my brain but good.  Yeah, baby, the Turtles, back in the sixties.  God, I'm old.)

Okay, I know I have a sinus infection.  I tell the nurse that.  I tell the doctor that.  But here comes the problem.  Before I can list my symptoms, the doctor wants to make a commentary on The Walking Dead shirt I'm wearing.  In other words, the doctor has just decided to tell me what he thinks of people who like to watch, quoting here, "Those zombie shows."  Although I'm sick, running a fever, and my head feels like it's just going to fall off while I'm sitting on the examination table, I'm still polite enough to not say anything.  Also it occurs to me that the doctor from the urgent care center thinks that all his patients are morons.  Dr. Don'tgiveashizz says, "It's my theory that people who watch zombie shows are able to get into that violence and gore through the show."  Let me explain this.  Dr. Don't thinks that I'm secretly into violence and gore AND I'm too stupid to realize what he's just implied about me.

 I want to say, "Shut up and give me a script for antibiotics."  Instead I say, "The Walking Dead isn't about violence and gore."  Dr. Don't gives me the high eyebrow raise which I take to mean, "Shut the front door."  It's then that I realize that this poor man has never watched The Walking Dead, and has probably never seen any zombie movie, ever.  We should feel sorry for this poor, stupid bastard.

Well, then Dr. Don't moves along to the sinusitis part of the equation.  He wants to know if I'm diabetic because I take meds for pre-diabetes.  Once this has been confirmed/denied, he plows into the obligatory WEIGHT issue.  Dr. Don't says, "Have you tried to lose weight?"

I

HATE

DOCTORS.

I hate doctors.  I hate doctors.  I hate doctors.  I...HATE...DOCTORS.  I hate doctors.

Dr. Don't has instantly transformed himself into Dr. Dumbass in my head.  He proceeds to make it worse by saying, "You should try eating on smaller plates."  My first instinct was act stupid, pour on the redneck accent, and say, "Smaller plates.  Gall dang.  I ain't never thought of that.  You've saved me, Oh Mystical Doctor of Epic Proportion (this part wanders out of the poor yokel response, but the hell with it), you and this wondrous Urgent Care Center.  Kin I get that antibiotic now?"

But I didn't say that.  What I said was, "Oh, I don't know, you can fit a whole lot of food on a small plate."

Then Dr. Dumbass looked just like this:

He had perceived the irony, and was obligated to make a I-just-ate-a-sour-lemon look of disapproval because I must be put in my place.

Anyway, sinus infection it is.  Dr. Dumbass sent a nurse in to give me a shot in the ass, just because I said that about small plates.  (Well, that's what I think.)

And I swear I got the sinus infection germs from the collision place where I went last went to look at our wrecked car.  (Yes, our new car, only five weeks in our driveway, was rear ended by not one, but two morons who couldn't stop on a clear day with no turns in the road.  These are morons, by the way, who would probably believe Dr. Dumbass about the small plates and The Walking Dead.  That's a blog in progress since I'm still ranting about, er, discussing doctors and sinus infections.)

I love Gary Cole.  Do you think people come up to him
in the street and do Office Space impersonations?
Probably.  I'm sure he's sick of it.

The best news of all is that Dr. Dumbass did prescribe enough drugs that I feel well enough to blog.  I should probably cut him a break.  Probably.  I'd have to find a small plate to put it on, though.

Bwahaha.  Off to see how many pain pills I can morally take today.  Maybe they have small plates for small pills, or was that too much?