Sticky Beak
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The Skinny
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...life in small Northern towns, working for assholes, boys who refuse to become men, synthetic personalities, anorexic models and their link to emotional scarring, bad marijuana trips, crazies on BC Transit, beer, piece of shit cars, living out of a suitcase paycheck to paycheck, unrequited love, Seinfeld, minimum-wage jobs, broken New Year�s resolutions, and over-limit Visa accounts.
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The Magical Starfish I got the official results of my pre-employment physical in the mail yesterday, thanks to my mom. I scanned through the paperwork, and although the moron doctor changed it to read that my septum is in tact and I have good oral hygiene, the bastard did not leave the section regarding urine drug testing blank as I'd requested. I swear to god, if I were in BL I would march up to the clinic and SNAP. So, it's a good thing I'm not, I reckon. I'm so disappointed that this doctor turned out to be such a gob-shite. When I first met him, I thought he was fabulous; wearing his little M.E.C. vest and scurrying around the office, he seemed like a genuinely nice doctor... such a rareity, especially in BL. He looked over the two-paged physical and assured me that he knew what he was doing, as he'd completed several cruise physicals in the past. He zipped through the paperwork and sent me straight over to the hospital to get labs done. Everything went so smoothly at the hospital, I couldn't believe it. I was in and out of there within 1 hour, and managed to get all my bloodwork and urine testing, a chest X-ray, and even my T.B. test done. All I could think was "Wow. How efficient am I??? I can't believe everything's going so smoothly! I'm totally ahead of the game! YAY ME!" Yeah, right. I should have known better. This is me we're talking about. So now here I am, down $150 for a piece of shit physical that I had to request be redone, was not redone the way I needed, and now reads that I am also positive for T.B., when I was advised by the Health Nurse who read my test that I was actually borderline. This is not the same thing as positive. Is it? Fuck me. I am at my wit's end with this whole thing. So anyway, back to the origin of this rant, I reviewed the results of the Urine Drug Test. I was expecting something relatively complex - you know, like a computer print-out identifying several different big words that I wouldn't understand and a percentage listed next to them. Nope. Instead what I had in my hand was a piece of paper which had originally been typed and then copied and recopied so many times over the last... oh... 30 years that the layout had become warped and twisted. The 'results' are hand-written next to each listed narcotic: RESULTS:And then underneath these results is a disclaimer that reads: *LEGAL CONTINUITY BROKEN. DIAGNOSTIC PURPOSES ONLY, whatever the fuck that means. Did they even use a computerized machine to test the urine, or did they just lick it for a taste-test??? "Mmmm..., yup billy-bob, I can definitely taste PCP in this one...." Mother of God. Thinking that this new doctor was somewhat capable and decent, I decided that I would schedule a pelvic exam with him... Something I'd been dreading having done since my doctor in Vancouver retired last year. God, she was awesome. I'd be in the office, stripped bare and lying on the slab underneath that ridiculous piece of tissue paper they give you to 'hide' under, my cheeks red and my mind swimming with horror at what awaits me in the next 5 minutes. But then Dr. Byrne - a short, stout little Irish woman - would enter the room and say to me in her thick Irish accent, "Sooooo... ut's pap tyme agun then, is ut Holly?" Chat, chat, chat... I'd forget that I was in stirrups and - BING! - all done... Just like that. So making this giant leap to have an annual in BL with this MALE doctor was pretty significant to me. Buuuut, it needed to be done, so I bit the bullet, repeated my 'I am an adult' mantra, and went to my appointment. What ensued was nothing short of horrific. The rooms are so goddamned small that he couldn't stand at the end of the table so leaned over my leg with his little flashlight and battery of utensils. In case you're wondering, this is not a comfortable sensation in any way, shape or form. I'm not entirely sure what he was hunting for, but I think at one point he was trying to gut me. I dunno. Let's just say that for a girl who's gone without any action for well over a year, I felt a wee bit violated. I was relating the sordid tale to my girlfriend Neysa today on the phone and we were laughing our asses off about it when I told her I was a bit disappointed to lose my 're-virginated' status to my doctor. "Re-virginated? What?" Well, that resulted in a fit of laughter that lasted about five minutes. All I could hear was "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" and a whole shitload of knee and desk-slapping. Frickin' hilarious. By the way, apparently I was ill-advised in my knowledge regarding hymen regeneration. I guess what can I expect when this knowledge originated from 'The 40 Year Old Virgin'? I googled it before writing this entry, just so that I had my facts straight, and it appears that once the seal is broken, it's done. No chance of restoring innocence after our past transgressions. What a drag. |