Kobayashi Maru

Last night I had drama with …friend, but everything is okay now. I wish I could tell you all about it, but I feel like I'd need his permission to tell the story, and I similarly feel like he'd say, "You know what? No. It was bad enough living it in real life. Why rehash it on an Internet blog?" That's what he called my blog once, like he's 97 years old. My Internet blog.

The good news is, …friend is the kind of person you can call, and you're all hysterical and possibly your hair is flying about twistily and your voice is all shaky, and five minutes later you have calmed down. Because he may or may not be the normal person in this scenario. I know that comes as a shock.

Confetti_3Here is an unretouched photo of my hair after my upsetty phone call to …friend. Or, alternatively, here is a picture of my spiral perm and Persian cat in 1988. I have shown you this picture before but I feel like it bears repeating.

I loved that cat. His name was Confetti. I got him on New Year's Eve; hence the moniker. He was super floppy and slept on my head. He kind of looks like Gizmo from that one movie. What the hell was the movie? With Gizmo. That one.

WHY did no one stop me from getting a perm? Seriously. Why did no one step in?

In other news, Tallulah continues to wear her cone, and she coincidentally continues to hate me. But the second I feel bad and take that thing off, she lick lick licks her incision. Why can she not put two and two together?

I am also here at my temporary job, which I have been at for over a month now, and last pay period I did not get paid because there was some kind of waiting period, and now today I didn't get paid enough. I only got one week's worth of cash money. Fortunately they are straightening it out, which is good because I have seven dollars.

Also, the surgery center called to ask me a bunch of questions. Do I have sleep apnea? Am I a bleeder? Am I a breeder? How is my heart? Who is that guy with a sickle behind me?

So that was relaxing. Seeing as this is my THIRD operation to remove my effing fibroids, I am kind of familiar with the procedure. I could probably reach up there and do it myself. Anyway, Faithful Reader Laurie, we have to be there at 7:15 and that sounds delightful. Maybe they mean 7:15 p.m. and we can have cocktails first. What say you?

Oh! And before I go, I do have to tell you one more thing. Before I called …friend with my upsettyness, I talked to my friend Sandy's husband. He is a genuinely nice guy, and I wanted a guy opinion that was not Hulk's. For once.

So I told him the story and he said, "What you've got here, June, is the Kobayashi Maru," he said.

The what, now?

"Yeah. It's a no-win situation. In Star Trek II and then Star Trek VI, Khan blooo de blooo bloo. And he bleep de beeee dee deeee, and he had Kobayahsi Maru. A no-win situation."

Will you remind me to stop asking men things?

Come to think of it, it was a man who gave me that spiral perm, too. June. Sensing a pattern. A swirly brown puffy pattern.

106 thoughts on “Kobayashi Maru

  1. Sending good vibes to both you and Lu.
    When our elkhound had a cyst removed we asked the vet about a cone. He doesn’t like them any more than the dogs. We ended up getting one of those foam neck braces from the drug store. It worked like a champ. He thought it was just a fat collar but he couldn’t get his head around far enough to lick the wound.


  2. Re counting: I don’t count ALL the stairs because it’s exhausting enough just walking up them. But my daughter lives in a fourth floor apartment in San Francisco. You walk up nine inside stairs to a small landing, then turn, turn nine more stairs, then turn, turn on the landing, etc., etc. It KILLS this old lady, lemme tell ya. I have to stop and catch my breath two or three times. Also? My daughter says she lives on the third floor, but to me the lobby is floor one, the next floor is two, then three, then her floor, which is the fourth floor, dammit.


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