Dr. Stabby and the Neurotoxins
That Will be the Name of My Next Band
On Wednesday, I went to the doctor.
[Ed.: She was nice this time and will no longer be referred to as Dr. Grandma Naggypants.]
We talked about the same things we talked about the night before, when she called me to tell me the same thing my tech told me on Monday after my close encounter with a hydraulic press.
One of Dr. Lady's bright ideas was a tetanus booster. I've done this before. Just tetanus and also the DPT threefer. Should be no big deal right?
Wednesday afternoon, I text a girl repeatedly. That's not new and blowing up a phone is a two-way street. #Noonesstalkinganyone But I am LOCKED IN.
EVERYTHING MATTERS. Every word. Every nuance. What I say; what she says. Is it the Harmonic Convergence? Kismet?
What's going on with me? Am i back to 13-year-old clumsy puppy Larry? Was that Ritalin, instead of DPT? Or Adderall? Or Crystal Blue Persuasion? I don't know but it's too much. I am too immersed. Too RIGHT THERE.
Time for Phase two.
Oh shit. I said TOO MUCH. Why, oh why wasn't I glib and aloof Larry like usual. Say anything, as long as it's funny. The laughs are the thing. Regardless of reach of the banter, this is two friends who've never met.
I'm told that Virgos overthink things. Cue the disaster montage in 3... 2... 1...
Thanks, tetanus vaccine. You made my day... suck.