Well enough to line dance, well enough to lap dance

I’m thinking about getting back to work at the end of this week. CineVegas also begins this week and runs through the weekend so I might actually be busy, which will be a good change from sitting around for two weeks doing absolutely nothing. I’ve simply spent way too much time being sedentary. I’m on summer vacation and I’m going nuts.

I’ve had a lot of time to irritate my boyfriend on a daily basis. He’s has a 9 –to-5 job, which makes our work schedules exact opposites. Since I haven’t been working, I’ve been able to channel my energy into eating all the food at his house and watching his TV. Quality time, if you ask me.

We ended up at Stoney’s over the weekend. What a strange place. I don’t think I had ever witnessed line dancing until I went there. Line dancing is like the Macarena for white people. The steps look kind of complicated so it was very surprising that in varying states of sobriety, almost every single person was able to keep up with all the steps. It was like the “Thriller” video, all in unison like that, except these people were wearing cowboy boots. After a few shots of whiskey, I found myself line dancing to “Cotton Eyed Joe,” which is a sure sign that I need to get back to work. If I’m well enough to line dance, I’m well enough to lap dance.

Healing is going well. The pain is almost completely gone. I got this weird lump near my incision that freaked me out though. I once had a beautiful German shepherd dog that had a lump like that, a benign tumor, that was a source of great fascination and entertainment for me. One time when he returned from the vet after a biopsy on the growth, I noticed a bit of liquid seeping out from under the tiny scab over the growth. Upon gentle pressure, the lime-sized cyst exploded into my hand. I kept squeezing to drain the remaining contents of the cyst. There was so much stuff in there under so much pressure that it sprayed onto the wall several times. It was like bloody blue-cheese ground-beef toothpaste kind of stuff and it splattered high onto the wall. My wall looked like a Pollock painting after this projectile bodily fluid madness. Anyway, the doctor told me that a small lump is common and it will go away. I called him on his cell phone at an indecent hour in his time zone because I was so concerned about ending up like my German shepherd. I won’t, he assured me, before I could tell him about my dog. I’m doing just fine and looking forward to getting back to business.


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