Thursday, July 14, 2005

physician heal thyself max headroom

I suppose a word of explanation is in order. Today's title is admittedly a bit ... obscure. Or as they used to say in graduate school, "difficult to unpack." Yep, it is. But you see, I'm sort of bedridden at the moment, and when I'm bedridden, I get even weirder than usual. Which is saying a lot.

My title comes to you courtesy of IDcounter, a website that allows me, an obsessive-compulsive blogger, to check how many people are visiting my blog, the url they typed in, and even what they were searching for when they found it. For the easily amused--and I name no names--some of these search phrases are pretty funny. For example, apparently someone typed "physician heal thyself max headroom" into a search engine and voila! came up with my blog.

I suppose if I tried really hard, I could come up with some way that this makes any kind of sense. I might even be able to figure out what the hell this person was thinking. But I'm too amused by the idea that those phrases both appear in this blog. I don't remember talking about Max Headroom, but I guess he's in here somewhere. I'm not going to argue with all that software out there. Not me. I realize my mind and I are a Sargasso Sea. Anyway, I'm lying here on a bed of pain, and Google would kick my ass.

See, my back and neck started bothering me a few days ago. At first it was nothing a hot shower couldn't cure. Then it took ibuprofen--four at a time. Last night I sat through a completely annoying non-profit board meeting and then discovered when I got home that the babysitter had locked everyone out of the house. We didn't have to call the locksmith only because my husband's travel plans had changed, and he came home Wednesday night. Instead of Friday, as previously planned.

I guess the politeness that had me making remarks such as "it could have happened to anyone" and actually paying this numbnuts $50 and sending her home unbitchslapped instead of informing her how fucking moronic I thought she was resulted in some pent-up rage. Which did its work during the night. And I woke up this morning pretty much unable to move.

Talk about physician heal thyself. If I'd only have smacked said numbnuts around, I'd be fine. Instead I'm high on fistfuls of ibuprofen chat-chat-chattering away like Max Headroom.

Come to think of it, my title does kind of make sense after all.



  1. Dude, tell me about it. People keep finding my blog by way of google searches on "Brenda Vaccaro spanking" or some shit.

    Oh, and pain sucks! So get better, dammit!

  2. Leave Brenda Vaccaro alone. Italo-asthmatic chicks are hot...or were, like, 20 years ago.

  3. Back pain is the worst.

    Get thee some Valium, stat.

    I get wackos wanting "housewives with gloves naked" and shit like that.

  4. What's puzzling is that I'm almost positive I have never, ever mentioned Brenda Vaccaro on my blog. I mean, I would remember something like that, wouldn't I?


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xxx, Poppy.