2003-07-10 @ 2:50 p.m.
|I'm in a great deal of pain at the moment. I think I may be getting a visit from the Sciatic Fairy. I went to the ER last summer with sciatic pain. I'm hoping this isn't a repeat. And you know how I got this? Sitting on my butt. Yup. See you don't even have to dance Twyla Tharp choreography to disrupt the delicate balance of the sciatic nerve. I was in the park next door listening to a great band. We have free concerts all summer. All the yuppies come out and pretend to have rhythm and know who Wilson Pickett is. Anyways, the band was doing some great tunes. Very eclectic mix. "At Last", "The A Train", "Unchain my Heart" with some 70's funk thrown in. I sat in the grass for a little over an hour listening to the music and then walked home. By time I got home I was experiencing that tell tale pain in my butt and leg. I talked to my Mom on the phone for an hour, with my legs hooked up over a pillow. I had taken several aspirins but they did absolutely nothing. My Mom suggested the ice (I put a plastic bag of it down my pants, woo hoo!) and it has helped a little. I just hope I don't wake up like last summer. I was literally paralyzed and couldn't get out of bed. All because I sat on some grass and listened to music.
And naturally my masseuse buddy is on vacation. Of course, his suggestion last summer, when my sciatic nerve went screwy, was to yank my leg really abruptly and snap it back into place. Yeee-ouch! SO, maybe its good that he's on vacation. I'd much rather have the kinder and gentler bag of ice on my butt, than any snapping.
So what's more annoying than a naughty sciatic nerve? Yuppies. And this town is full of them. When I pull out onto the main street where I live, its SUVs as far as the eye can see. Before my shrink got his Passat, he used to have a SUV. I once asked him how he could find his car at the local grocery store, with the wall to wall SUVs? He took out his little black clicker thing that emits a high pitched SUV bleep that only yuppies can hear and said he could locate it like that. Oh. The only noise my car makes is the ka--thunk and scraaape of bad brakes.
But the concert in the park was truly a gathering of yuppies extraordinaire. All the men wear khaki Docker shorts with loafers or Air Nikes. All the women wear Blue Fish dresses and do pilates. And the Stepford children, they all look like Caroline Kennedy in 1962. Blonde pageboys and blue eyed. It's kinda scary.
I have a male friend from NYC. He had that kind of cute tough guy NY swagger. When I first met him he had a truck with a camper shell and wore jeans. But he married into yuppiedom. Now, after 4 years of marriage, he has an SUV, wears khaki Dockers and recently I noticed he was wearing the fruitiest looking sandals I ever saw. I almost bust out laughing. How could you let yourself get so freakin' homogenized? What happened to that adorable tough guy from NY?
So as I sat in the park, listening to the band, wearing my very-un-yuppy-like cotton T-shirt and sandals from Payless Shoe Source, I felt secure in the fact that I was myself. I didn't need a Blue Fish label sticking out of my shirt to fit in.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty