First Contact

I come to you now after a long vacation. Both from work, and an even longer one from writing for this site. Part of me was seduced by the easy lure of Posterous, (which I still update please to be checking it out), part of me was a little burned out from doing so much at work.

But I'm back now, brimming with fresh stories of alcohol-fueled obnoxiousness. Like the following, minus the alcohol.

I generally wear glasses to see long distances. I ear them when I drive, I used to wear them all the time in class, and I wear them a lot at work.

Lately I've gotten fucking sick of wearing my glasses, making sure they're clean, not losing them while hammered, all that stuff.

So I decided to make an appointment to get contacts. I had a Monday off, so I went to this place, and got an eye exam, before getting fitted for contacts. It was in my insurance and close to my place, but it was a new doctor for me.

I don't have a phobia about eyes or anything, but there is nothing more terrifying than waiting for that fucking puff of air to get your eyes. I would rather wait in front of a firing squad.

I always flinch like a bitch at every little shift, and then when the puff comes out, I always shove myself back, sometimes letting out a piglet-like squeal of pure terror. I hate myself.

Once the exam is finished, it was time to meet my new eye doctor. I've had a few eye doctors in the past, and they're usually the weirdest looking people you've ever met. Very nice people, mind you, but strange.

This trip was the exception to the rule. Because my doctor was drop dead gorgeous. Tan, dirty blonde hair, and about 6-2.

I love tall chicks. And most importantly, no wedding ring. See this week's Friday Hate for more info on that.

The problem? I've been on vacation for more than a week now, so not only are my shower schedules way off (shower at night), but I'm about a month overdue for a haircut, and I'm wearing the same filthy-ass shorts I've worn for the entire vacation, meaning they probably smell like fish and cigar smoke and beer.

I was hoping for one of those "Which is better, number one, or number two?" style tests, only instead of the stupid letter chart, I would get to stare at those gorgeous breasts, but alas, it wasn't to be.

So I get my exam, and go through all the shit, and then they hand me over to some Oriental broad, and here's where the trouble starts.

It was like the scene where the Asian chick is waxing Andy's chest in 40-year-old Virgin, except this bitch was putting shit in my eye.

Then I had to take them out. Then put them in. Then take them out. Then put them in. Then take them out.

In and out three times had to happen three times before I was finished (hey-oh!). By the end of it, my eyes were bloodshot, there were hot salty tears everywhere, and I had nary a shred of dignity.



It was like that, except replace "body waxed" with "putting shards of fucking glass in my eye."