Diagnosis: Old Lady

Here is a story for you. 

So remember how I sang you that song about how I hurt my back?

Right. So, I thought it was getting better but then two nights ago, Satan inserted his knife of pain into my lower spine. And boyfriend and I were watching Breaking Bad (OMG AUGUST 11 IS COMING I CANNOT EVEN) and I was just laying flat on the floor, 800 mg of ibu profen on board, just crying like a pathetic thing that is pathetic because it hurt so bad. Like, I honestly thought I was gonna vom cause I was in so much pain.

So I was like, OK OK I'll go to the doctor.

So I set an alarm for 9 a.m. cause that's when the Orthopedic Clinic opens and I called them and I was like, "Look, I'm in a whole lot of pain. Can you please see me today?" And somehow I received an appointment at 10:30.

I got there after a few wrong turns (stupid Opelika road) and was chillin in the waiting room and there was this dude sitting next to me, a black guy in his mid-30s I would guess, and he asked what was wrong. And I told him and we started talking and I told him I was from Chattanooga and they have really good sushi there (this will be important later). 

Anyway, he gets called back, and then I get called back, and they tell me they're gonna do an x ray so I have to put on these SEXUAL shorts:

Oh yes. I kept them.

And then doctor man comes into see me, and he gets like halfway through saying, "Hi, how are you, my name is--" and then he lets out this LION'S ROAR of a yawn. Like, how rude right?? I was like, really? You're not even going to muffle it? Nope, he just opened his big ole mouth and let it out. 

And then he sort of tapped around on my reflexes and pulled on my legs and finally was like, "Yeah, so you slipped a disk."

Which I already suspected, but then it was officially confirmed. I was diagnosed as a lil old lady.

So I took my hothothothot shorts and my pain med prescription and left Lion Man to go take a final. And I'm walking out, and I hear someone yelling at me. It was waiting room man. The following is a rough transcript of our conversation:

Waiting room man: HEY. HEY. So....*heavy breathing from running to catch up with me* what did they say?

Me: Oh, I slipped a disk.

WRM: Oh man, I know that hurts. I hope you feel better.

Me: Thanks.

WRM: Man!! You are GORGEOUS.

Me: .....Aww....well thanks.

WRM: You got a boyfriend?

Me: Yeah I do.

WRM: How long y'all been together?

Me: Two and a half years.

WRM: Wow. So I guess I can't give you my number.

Me: Uhhh...probably not....

WRM: Damn. I was gonna ask you to go get dinner. We could get sushi!

Me: Well you should still try it! It's great.

WRM: But I wanted to try it with you!!

Me: Well....sorry....nice meeting you....

And as I said, this dude is like approaching middle age, and in the waiting room we were talking about his job in Columbus teaching and I just assumed that he had, you know, a family and kids and that we were just talking but I guess he was hitting on me?

Oh well. It was still flattering.

And I guess, really, I would have been the cougar in this situation, not him.

HA. See, some old ladies still got it goin' onnnn!

82

Hey guys....soooo here's nice video for you of me singing a parody I wrote of Taylor's Swift's song "22," inspired by my recent back injury.

The lyrics:

It feels like a perfect night to just wear my jammies

And snuggle up in my flannel sheets, oh oh, oh oh

It feels like a perfect night to go to bed at 10 p.m.

To give up and just turn in, oh oh, oh oh

Yeah,

My back, my joints, please pass the aspirin and the heating pad

I’m so miserable it’s laughable

Oh, yeah

Tonight’s the night I have to sleep in a straight line

Stupid spine

Oh, oh!

I don’t know about you

But I’m feeling 82

Everything will be all right

Once I get my prune juice

You don’t know about me

You think I’m like you

But I’m not so sprightly

I simply can’t dance like I’m

22

22

It seems like one of those nights

My house is too big

Can’t make it up the stairs, oh oh, oh oh

It seems like one of those nights

I’ll ditch the bedroom

And end up sleeping

In my living room

Yeah,

My back, my joints, please pass the aspirin and the heating pad

I’m so miserable it’s laughable

Oh, yeah

Tonight’s the night I have to sleep in a straight line

Stupid spine

Oh, oh!

I don’t know about you

But I’m feeling 82

Everything will be all right

Once I get my prune juice

You don’t know about me

You think I’m like you

But I’m not so sprightly

I simply can’t dance like I’m

22, 22

22, 22

It feels like one of those nights

That I just can’t move

It feels like one of those nights

Couldn’t if I wanted to

It feels like one of those nights

This looks like bad news…

Can’t bend and can’t move

Can’t bend and can’t move

Oh, oh!

I don’t know about you

But I’m feeling 82

Everything will be all right

Once I get my prune juice

You don’t know about me

You think I’m like you

But I’m not so sprightly

I simply can’t dance like I’m

22, 22

22, 22

It feels like one of those nights

That I just can’t move

It feels like one of those nights

Couldn’t if I wanted to

It feels like one of those nights

This looks like bad news…

Can’t bend and can’t move

Can’t bend and can’t move

I hate cops

So in case you guys didn't know, I have this weird fear of police officers. I mean, I know they're meant to help you and keep you safe and all that jazz, but I can't help it; I get super nervous around them.

My aversion to cops has gotten worse as of late. There is a girl in my class this Summer who is a copper and who felt it was appropriate to come to class in uniform with a loaded gun. Pretty sure that's illegal, ma'am, when you're on a school campus. If you're in school, you're not on duty, and when you're not on duty, why don't you leave that shit in the car?

Anyway, remember my post a while ago about the obnoxious girl in my Abnormal class that my friends and I dubbed "Poop?" Well, this cop girl in my class now is Poop the 4th, AKA Queen Poop, because even if you can't believe it's possible, she's worse. And yes, there were two more Poops in between.

Let me tell you about a few things this chick has said.

Firstly, an incident which I did not actually witness, but which my psychology friend informed me of. I don't know the reasoning behind why they were talking about this in class, but apparently Queen Supreme said something to the likes of, "I don't like my two year old being around my brother, because he's gay and I don't want him to be a bad influence."

Oh right, yes, because A) Gay people are MONSTERS (look out for Gayzilla, in theaters this Fall) and B) Homosexuality is contagious.

Can you imagine how hurtful that would be if you were that brother?? And your sister says you're not allowed to be around your nephew because you like the company of men. Why? Is this something you're discussing with the kid? Like, "Hey buddy, have you ever thought about where you'd like to put your penis once you hit puberty? Because I can give you a few tips."

No. No one says that. Gay or straight. Or Bi. Or whatever. I'm sure the guy would just play trains with the kid or whatever.

Secondly, an incident which occurred only a few days ago in my class. We were talking about portable eye tracking devices, which are actually pretty cool. And our teacher asked us if there were any practical uses for these devices. And some girl jokingly says, "Well you could put it on a pedophile and track his eye movements and if he stares at a kid too long, you could give him a shock."

And we all laughed, because it was kind of funny. And then the shit Queen chimes in with, "Oh well it wouldn't matter. Trust me, those people can't be rehabilitated."

And there was this silence. And me and my two friends in that class looked at each other. And I just went, "Ohhh. OK." And sat there shaking my head.

(Side note: If you are not aware, I am doing research with those friends at a juvenile prison this Summer and part of the population we work with is sex offenders who are either about to receive or are about to leave treatment.)

The professor I'm doing research under was actually hired by the state to begin putting treatment programs in prisons in Alabama, after a new state law decreed that sex offenders be required to receive treatment. So there's just now starting to be a change in the system, and it's so so cool to be on the cutting edge of that. Back to Poop.

Ok, chick, listen. If you're a cop, you should know, first of all, that maybe "those people" haven't experienced successful rehabilitation because there ISN'T any treatment program in most prisons. And as someone in law enforcement, maybe the implantation of treatment plans should be of interest to you.

But no, Poop, "those people" won't get better if they're not getting treated in the first place.

Also, as a psychology major, shouldn't you be interested in learning about this instead of writing it off as something that's permanent and can't be changed? You might want to reevaluate your choice of major.

How did she get into law enforcement? The requirements must be loose for her to have gotten through. I'm hoping that she is a rarity in the line of police work, because I would think knowledge of the prison system would be important to, you know, know.

Ok, ok, rant over. This might not have been the funniest thing, but it's something that is very important to me. A person is a person. A pedophile is still a human being, and is likely suffering from mental illness. I look forward to being able to help "those people" in my career. I want to work in a prison and with other counselors to rehabilitate "those people," because yes, it is possible. In fact, in the prison where I work now, the re-arrest rate has gone down by far more than 50% after the treatment program was implemented. Oh yes, I talk to sex offenders, and I get their stories, and then they go talk to therapists who help them get better. And THAT, miss Poop cop, is what a psychology major should care about.