June | 2014 | Am I Really?

Whether it’s a sale on COBRA Health Insurance, silk screen t-shirts, or improving my erection (I had no idea I had a penis!), spam mail wants me to have it all.

Many are annoyed by the process of emptying out their trash email box. I, however, get a type of giddy excitement. My spam mail is so complimentary. Plus, it thinks I lead a way more interesting life than I actually do.

Not this kind of spam.

Let’s take a look at the type of person my spam mail seems to think I am:

Altruistic. According to spam, I will help all kinds of strangers in need of money in Nigeria, Papa New Guinea, and Texarkana. They are so polite too with their, “Dear Sir/Madam.” I appreciate that they really don’t give a damn about my gender – it is 2014. Also, thank you for thinking I keep two grand in my wallet. Apparently I am loaded.

Slutty. I don’t like to brag, but spam thinks I put out quite a bit. Emails are constantly telling me how I can increase pleasure with various tools and herbs, or that someone wants to hook up with me. Trying not to let the flattery get to my head has been hard. Which leads me to…

I’m a Man! Clearly I should start looking down more, because my spam mail knows something I don’t. I get a multitude of emails for Viagra, “Keep Going Longer,” and how to increase my manhood. Apparently I am a man who can’t get it up with my tiny pee pee. I suck at being a man.

Appearances Matter. I like to put my best foot forward in this life. Spammers are always telling me how to get clearer skin, lose 20 pounds in one week, or achieve thicker shinier hair. Thanks goodness I no longer have to walk the earth as a slightly chunky, zit-ladden, balding woman, er man.

Lighting Matters. Not just any kind of lighting – LED lighting! I am saving the environment while noticing that piece of lint on the ground from three weeks ago.

Friendly. How many people can reach out to one girl via unread Facebook messages? Apparently a lot. So many people want to get in touch with me if I just click “here.” Word probably got out that I’m a slutty stud.

Thank you for not labeling me.

So thank you spammers for boosting my ego. I appreciate you looking out for me.

Just keep a lid on the fact that I am writing this in my worn out pjs while chugging one of my daughter’s Danimals. I have a rep to protect.

Being in a hospital or emergency waiting room pretty much blows. If you are the patient, you are usually in pain, scared, and shaking. The shaking is mostly likely because the temperature is set at ten degrees minus anywhere in Russia. Also you have to wait. Forever. Remember Rip Van Winkle? I’m pretty sure he fell asleep in the ER, just waiting to be seen.

While clearly paling in comparison, it also no picnic for the caregiver. You too are worried, scared, and ill-prepared; armed only with a phone at thirty per cent juice, a half-eaten granola bar, and a waning bottle of Purell.

So there is people watching.

The sub-culture of the ER waiting room is fascinating. When I had to take my husband to the emergency room, I could not get over the happenings in the waiting area.

Some people were really sick and hurting – like my husband. It broke my heart to see others suffering, when there was really nothing I could do. Except nag the front desk personnel and refill my cup of crushed ice.

Then there were some people who looked like they meant to go to Chili’s for dinner, discovered they were out of the baby back ribs, and so figured the hospital was the next best thing.

One woman was all dolled up in makeup and a matching hot pink velour track suit. She had her husband/boyfriend/man servant carry her white Gucci handbag while they trotted around the waiting room. Another woman worked happily on her laptop and phone, brought dinner, and ran into some old friends of hers, also waiting in the ER. What??

It was all I could to do to stop myself from slipping the triage nurse a $10 (it was all I had) to find out why fancy soft pants and “oops, this isn’t my office” were there.

Not our doctors.

Here’s a thought: If you can smile, work, and relax in the Emergency Room, then perhaps “it” can wait until the morning.

Once we actually got a room, I entertained myself with some bad television. Here were my viewing choices:

1) Bethany – I can’t even. I have never seen this show, but after watching it I needed a penicillin shot. (No offense to her Skinny Girl wine, which I will gladly drink.)

2) Easy Yoga – I fell asleep watching this. It was too easy. I don’t take yoga, but I’ve seen more movement in the Silver Sneakers class at the Y.

3) Have a Turkey Neck? – Honest to God this was the name of an infomercial show. The cream looked like a pretty good thing, but the title made me crave mashed potatoes.

4) Brazilian Butt Lift – I tried to glean all I could, but my husband made she shut it off because of the noise…and the before and after photos. Buzz kill.

5) World’s Best Blender – Amazing! Apparently this blender can actually cure diabetes and the obesity problem in America. So much chopped asparagus. Also, I will never use this thing.

The emergency room and the reason for being there were pretty scary things. I was more than happy to have these slightly lame distractions.

I wanted to take a bath in this after the ER.

I would, however, like to give all of the doctors, nurses, radiologists, anesthesiologists, phlebotomists, technicians, and staff a round of applause. They have to deal with so much on a daily basis. They are patient, knowledgeable, and kind. I honestly can’t say that about myself on a day to day basis.

But mostly, I’d like to give them all some premium cable channels.

Oh, and a penicillin shot.