ka-pow!

As directed by my physician, I took my blood pressure over a two-week period because it was so high in the office. All the readings were bad, mostly 130/100. That diastolic reading (the lower one) puts me in stage two hypertension, which means medication. Which sucks. How can someone so NOT type A have hypertension? I exercise six days a week, never eat meat; I'm a little overweight, but not by much and I don't give a rat's ass about, well, most anything that doesn't personally violate my highest code of ethics. That is, I usually don't sweat the small stuff.

Of course, knowing you have high blood pressure gives you...all together now, kids-higher blood pressure! That's right. I walk around thinking my heart is choking the life out of me, that my arteries are being ripped apart by stirred and shaken corpuscles on crack (a mini-series, perhaps?). I envision my jugulars sticking out like two stiff twigs in my neck, just waiting to snap ...pant... pant... pant... See, I worked myself up into frenzied unbearable state of being.

WTF. Anyway, back to the doc I go to get doped up again. I swear I am starting to look like the crazy lady at the pharmacy on SNL. I won't shop with a basket at the corner drugstore; I'll shop with the Big Metal Buggy. By next year, I'll have lipstick smeared all over my face and false eyelashes pasted to my eyebrows because I won't know where the hell I am.

And, God help me, I'm bloated, which means I might blow sky-high at any moment, pinging the unsuspecting passerby with my jet-propelled eyeballs. My eyeball will be wiped away with a Kleen*x, only to have the victim mutter obscenities about pigeon poop.

Boy the sleeves on that jacket they're bringing me sure are long...

But, before they lock me up or I explode, I would like to see Garden State. It really looks wonderfully quirky. And wouldn't you know, Zach Braff has a blog, too. He has been imprisoned in my blogroll.