I think my chair is out to get me . . .

Yes, my chair. Let me explain, before ya'll get "high and mighty" and go and have me put in some sorta crazy man jail where the chair can't get me. I'm not that stupid or mentally-insufficient or what-have-you. Sheesh.

You see, I was watching TV. Nothing was on, so I was flipping through the channels. As I took a moment to notice the amazing definition in my thumbs from all my surfing, I came to a stop on the ABC Family Channel. Normally, the only time I would even give ABC Family the slightest bit of attention is if an episode of Whose Line Is It Anyway? was on. However, that show will soon be coming out on DVD, and as soon as it becomes a part of my library, ABC Family can go straight to hell. But on this day, I stopped. Why? Because Full House was on.

Not just any episode. A "Kimmy Gibbler" episode.

OK. A little Kimmy Gibbler history. She is the oldest daughter's, DJ, best friend. Kimmy is a little "out-there" in that she wears funky 80s clothes, makes b ad jokes and was skinny as a pole. And there is something about her that makes the rest of DJ's family hate her guts. I've never picked up on it, but it's there. The Tanner family hates her, and wouldn't blow a wad of snot on her if she were engulfed in flames. Really. Here is what went on in this episode.

Kimmy: Hola, Tannerinos!
Danny Tanner: Oh f*ck, it's Kimmy.
Michelle: I hope you die in a violent car wreck, b*tch.
Uncle Jesse: (Grabs Kimmy by the arms, holding them behind her back.) I got the little c*m dumpster!
Stephanie: (Stabs Kimmy in neck with a ballpoint pen.) Nice knowing you, d*ke!

I just don't get it. She wasn't anymore annoying then any of the other girls on the show. She was at least as attractive as any of the other women on the show. I'm willing to bet- if they ever do any sort of reunion show with Full House- they'll kill Gibbler off in some sort of murder-suicide-anal rape storyline with Joey Gladstone. Seriously, how could they hate Kimmy more then Joey? He was a 30-something single man who seemed to have no interest in women outside the three in-no-way legal girls in the house, and always spoke in creepy cartoon-character voices. He barely held a job for longer then a season, slept in their living room, and received head from Alanis Morrisette in a movie theater! (Allegedly.) 

Anyway, I was pondering all of this when I decided to make myself a milk shake. A strawberry and banana milk shake. So I got up, put the strawyberries and milk and ice cream into the blender. I grabbed the banana, looked it square in the eyes, and said, "Damn you banana." And I laughed. It was clever, I'm modest enough to admit it. I'm damn funny. So I blended the hell out of that banana, strawberry, and whatever else I could. Then I turned back around to sit back in the living room and watch the Tanner Family mentally abuse that Kimmy once again.

Then it happened. My chair . . . and I can't even call it "my" chair. Our realtor left it after an Open House," so I kept it. It became mine. In any case, I went back into the living room, and . . . oh crap. My chair is right over my shoulder. Just act natural.

Do do do . . .

Is it gone?

Nope?

Son of a bitch. I may be paranoid about this chair trying to ruin me and my wife's and unborn child's lives, but this chair is so paranoid about me trying to ruin its reputation as a "nice guy" I can't a moment alone. It's there in the morning when I wake up at the foot of my bed, it's in the shower washing my back, and it's at every corner on my way to work. I know- I KNOW- that it will stop at nothing to end me. But I'm not able to tell anyone because it's always here.

I need a drink.

I'll keep you posted.

Wooooooooooooooooooolhouse

So my wife- Gina- and I had our sixth month's doctor's appointment. In case you missed something, we are pregnant. She should be showing up sometime around November 14th. I hope she's not too late, because I got theater tickets the next night.

That was a joke. With how bad at showing up on time her mom and I are, I've cleared from October 12th to Christmas in my calendar. She could show up anytime in there.

Or earlier, as our stupid doctor alluded to yesterday.

Let me preface this story. I'm starting to hate doctors. Not all doctors. Most doctors are great. They save lives, and- barring that- they at least make the rest of life comfortable. It's these f'n OB/GYN doctors. And not all of them, I guess. We've had a couple who have been great. It's this one guy we've had TWICE that has irked me not once . . . but TWICE! And for those of you who don't know me . . . twice is my limit, sucka.

I don't remember much from our previous experience with him. All I remember is he told my vegetarian wife to eat meat and that is was OK for her to go water skiing. As we left- and my wife told me she was not eating meat while I informed her she was not getting near a speed boat- we gave little actual thought to Dr. Doctor (not his real name, just to save me from getting sued.) 

Then we had him again. Sigh.

First he measured Gina's tummy. "Hmmm, a little on the small side," he said, before adding, "Not that there is anything wrong with that." (Like he just called my wife's baby-carriage 'gay' or something.) "It's just on the low end of average, nothing to worry about."

Then he let Gina know he was going to check her cervix for dialation. "Take off your pants." Gina- who had no idea that this was going to transpire- looked scared. Maybe she always looks like that when a strange man is about to violate her. She looked like that on our wedding night, so maybe.

Anyway, Dr. Doctor rolls his sleeve up, and- with lots of exageration to make my point clear- he proceeds to check my wife's cervix, which apparently is located a foot and a half up "there." He kept it in there for a few seconds- which is longer then she is used to- and then slowly pulled it out. After wiping his arm- from elbow to wrist- off, he let us know the horrible news.

"Well, at this point in the pregnancy, the cervix should be completely closed. We test it by trying to put our finger inside of it. Well, I was barely able to put just the tip of my finger inside, which isn't a good thing. But don't worry. It's not necessarily a bad thing. It happens in a lot of first-time pregnancies- especially for smaller ladies such as yourself (referring to Gina)- so don't lose sleep over it. But just watch, because it could mean your baby will be premature which is not good and costs thousands of dollars to keep alive and it will ruin yours, his, and the baby's lives! But don't worry, because it's probably nothing."

Now I ask you: if you were a first time parent- and are so scared you nearly pee yourself when you imagine having to change a diaper- and your doctor told you that your wife's body may kick your first offspring out early. WOULD YOU BE NERVOUS?!?!?!

I know it sounds like I am, but I'm not. Anymore. I was for the first couple of hours afterwards. Then I checked it out, and discovered that this happens in literally like 75% of first-time pregnancies for women of Gina's stature, and a great portion of them end up healthy as oxen. 

So I'm not nervous. I'm upset at my doctor for even putting this idea in my head when the chances are so minute he might as well have added, "By the way, there is an off chance your fetus could get a hold of some sort of firearm and shoot your wife from the inside, killing her instantly." You're right, Dr. Doctor. There is an off-chance. WHY TELL ME LIKE THAT IF ODDS ARE IT IS NOTHING?!?!?! Tell me, but tell me nicely, softly, like you would over anything else.

So I shat in a bag, and lit it on fire, and left it in front of the clinic. I hope he was the first to leave. I'll imagine in my heart that he was.

BTW, check out www.damnyoubanana.com I put a new Apple vs. Banana cartoon on the front page, and my writing partner, Kris, has updated a few other things.

Wooooooooooooooolhouse

PS: I wrote about this, because that damn chair will NOT leave my side. I need a gun. I wonder if my baby will lend me hers.