Kicking the Tires

When I first moved to Austin some time ago, I was a little worried about finding my place. Sure, I'd fit right in if I spent most of my time travelling on a Segway between Indian restaurants and bong shops, but that's not how I get down. Instead, I posted flyers all over town, looking for similar minded folks who'd like to eat vienna sausages and drink moonshine with me until we pass out inside a car wash. No luck whatsoever there, and for many a night, my tears were my only companion. However, over the past couple of weeks, I think I'm slowly finding my comfort zone. I've found a place where I can spend one morning a week reading the NRA magazine, then getting weighed and talking about melanoma. No, I'm not talking about heaven, I'm talking about la doctora's office, fools.

I hadn't been to the doctor for quite some time. This was largely for two reasons. First, I have it on good authority that I'm invincible. For those of you who need proof of this, consider the fact that I've been eating my own cooking for two years now with nary a bout of pants pooping (the few exceptions shall be treated as statistical anomalies). Second, I couldn't find a doctor who'd barter with me for medical services. When presented with the option of money or a personally knitted beret, they would always opt for the money. "I'm not made of money, I'm made of yarn! You seriously think money makes your head look more sophisticated than a beret? I don't believe you're a doctor if you actually think that," I'd holler into their answering machines, but it did no good. I went untreated.

A few weeks ago, though, I'd had enough; I decided to pony up a few Mr. Lincolns for the copayment to see how much damage I'd been doing myself since I started up Beer-and-Fatty-Food-apalooza some years back. The results of the examination? I'm as strong as a bull and thrice as virile. The whole thing was kind of fun. In fact, I got so into the check-up, I've been going back to get other things looked at. At first, my reasons for seeing him were valid, but this week, I had nothing so I just tore out an article on menopause from Ladies Home Journal and asked him what he thought the implications were for me. I can only hope he grows tired of this charade before deciding to give me a prostate exam.

PS: If, by the grace of God, the Rangers go on to steal first from the A's, I'm never wearing pants again. It has been spoken!

Posted by Cody at September 23, 2004 6:18 PM