Nov 8, 2008

Why I Haven't Written a New Post

Ladies and gentlemen,

I have to apologize for not updating my blog. See, I work full-time at local quickie mart, and I really got wrapped up in doing a complete inventory of my store. Things got ugly. We were supposed to have 1,000 packages of Beef Jerky, but instead we counted 2,000. Plus, we were 1,000 packages short on fried pork rinds. It took me an entire month to create “Yummy Pork Rind” labels on my computer to stick on the packages of Beef Jerky. Plus, I had to buy poster board and a Sharpie marker out of my own money to make a sign that says, “All sales are final.”

Inventory is a recurring problem in the fast-paced quickie-mart world. There are so many small items that somehow disappear between the thefts from the kids who walk in and the stuff I stick in my own pockets. It’s very frustrating, especially for me since I am in charge of inventory. My manager told me he’s fed up of this problem, and if I don’t fix it by the time he returns from his one-month trip back to India, I will be fired!

Would you write a blog if you thought you’d be fired? No, I had to focus on work. To my good fortune, I’ve come up with a brilliant solution that will surely impress Mr. Patel when he comes back. I have reduced our entire inventory to just five products that are top-sellers or necessities: toilet paper, beef jerky, fried pork rinds, gum, and, of course, cigarettes (I had to do something for the children). I am sure this reorganization will please Manager Patel and surely lead to my promotion.

The other reason I haven’t written is because I haven’t been feeling so well. I’m in pain all the time. No, it’s not from 20 years of marriage. It’s worse. It’s real, physical pain. I say "real" because my psychologist said the pain I pretend to have in order to get attention doesn’t count.

The pain is due to a fibroid, a benign tumor, on my uterus. Oh, if you’re a man and feel squeamish about hearing that word (uterus), just substitute a word that’s not so offensive. How about “can of beer?” Anyway, I went to the doctor, and he said the fibroid is larger than my can of beer. In fact, it has expanded my can of beer to the size of a 12- or 14-week pregnancy. Heck, if the thing keeps growing, I’m going to name it and throw myself a baby shower! I’m preparing for the worst by registering at Babies R Us.

Anyway, forget all that. I just want this pain to be done with. The doctor said I can have a traditional hysterectomy or try some new-age procedure that is much less invasive and has been very successful in lab rats (unfortunately not so successful in non-lab rats).

Regardless, four out of five dentists recommend the non-invasive procedure, so I’m going to do it. Here’s how it works. They’re going to shoot something plastic (possibly recycled Wal-Mart bags or ammo from generic versions of Nerf guns) into the fibroid, and that will kill it slowly over the next three months. I should be back to my regular self within weeks. The fibroid will decrease in size, but the mass will remain in my body, perhaps as a memorial to what once lived there. The plastic pieces will circulate in my body until I die. Upon my death, I have asked to be thrown into a recycling bin. Now you see why this option is so attractive as compared to a boring hysterectomy. It's got . . . pizzaz! All that plastic all over the place. It's like a party in your body. Who wouldn't want to have this done?!

I certainly do! The procedure takes an hour and a half, and I’ll be in the hospital overnight, which means I’ll have control over the TV remote. I hope they have sliced pears for dessert while I'm in the hospital. I hear their sliced pears are to die for. I will settle for pear halves.

Oh, finally, did I tell you that it was my birthday last week? I turned 44. Sadly, I feel like I’m 64. People who take care of themselves, eat right, and exercise always feel younger, but I don’t do that stuff. That’s why I feel older. I did do some jogging on my birthday morning when I heard that the new Dunkin Donuts down the street was giving out free donuts to the first 20 customers. I felt like a 50-year-old as I sprinted through the front door of the store and up to the counter! It’s good to feel young again.

My family made my birthday spectacular. They are the best. They decorated the house, gave me such thoughtful presents, and made me feel special, showering me with false compliments and false praise all week! They know how to make me feel loved. My friends sent cards, called, or stopped by with gifts, which I immediately sold for cash outside the quickie mart.

Sometimes, when people start getting older and a birthday approaches, they feel depressed. They begin to ponder life, where they’ve been, how much they've accomplished in life, and what they wish they'd done. I don't do those things either. I just went out to a lovely dinner with my family and later watched TV in bed while eating a piece of German chocolate cake. Mmmm. It was a great birthday!

Your friend,

P.S. If you are a friend and have not sent your expensive gift yet, it's not too late. I will accept presents until Thanksgiving. (After that, I will reject them.)



Anonymous said...


Would you recommend the procedure for a male? It sounds enticing.

Faithful reader

Jane said...

Don't believe this sad story! Christmas, Hanukkah, Diwali & Kwanzaa are all rapidly approaching. It's obvious that Jackie's just trolling for some get well gifts, money, etc. that she can flip and give to others as holiday gifts.
You've been warned...
Jane in NJ

Anonymous said...

Oh, you are NOT turning down any gifts. I'll get you a nice fuzzy cover for your hospital remote. Or, something a-la Paris Hilton with hot pink jewelry. "That's hot!"