Who do I still think I am??

This one's about the better half...and step on it.

30DBC PROMPT: "Who is your evil twin? Write about the mischievous deeds that he/she has done today."

Happy "Funny Friday" friends, where us folks in the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS"  are charged with trying to make you laugh (or at least giggle-snort...which, c'mon, we both know leads to continued laughter). I'm not guaranteeing anything, by the way...if I had a bus token for every "Funny Friday" blog entry I've ever written that I thought was hilarious and was alone or close to it in that regard, you could probably line them up end to end and maybe get me across the hallway. That's still a lot of tokens, but their worth outside of what they're meant for is virtually useless.

I do kinda like today's prompt, even though I don't have a decent answer for it. It's unique, and I'm turning over a new leaf of sorts this time around...for all the complaining I've done in the past about prompts I didn't quite see eye-to-fingertips with (whether deserved or not), it should be more important to praise the person who comes up with unique and interesting things to challenge us with. So a tip my knit hat to the person this prompt came from. Well job .

After careful consideration (ok, maybe a total of 10 minutes between last night and this afternoon), I don't think I have an evil twin. Not in the real world, not on Writing.com, nowhere. Which is fine with me...really, could you imagine what I'd be like dipped in evil? Add up all my sarcastic, cynical, and disruptive elements, slap a negative sign on the answer, and watch whatever device you used to compute that equation on spontaneously blow up at trying to figure out how to represent a double zero sum inverse of itself (or something else math-related that I'm familiar with only in terms that I know not of what I speak). Like, how does an evil twin of me even begin to exist, let alone do so on the carpet of the same world where I've wiped my muddy shoes? It just can't be true, can it?

I think it's all relative. Does one in every set of twins have to be evil? Even though the parts and the wiring and the owner's manuals are exact copies, wouldn't one outperform the other in some categories, even if it's by .000001%? Is that really enough to warrant the label of "evil twin"? Take a look at WDC's most famous set of "twins", Lyn's a Witchy Woman and blainecindy (who don't just share a birthday, but like real twins were actually born on the same day in the same year)...how do you call either one of them evil? Where's the line of difference and demarcation?

Allow me take a look briefly at my day, and then let's decide how an eviler me would've proceeded. I started out this morning with a message from the orthopedic doctor's office letting me know I could go in anytime for lab work. Then I went to my mental health doctor's office and basically kicked it with him for about 20 minutes- he's actually a pretty fun guy with a good sense of humor- before he upped the dose on one of my meds (the one that's supposed to keep me from losing my shit on people for next-to-no reason) and wrote me new scripts for the other stuff I take. Then I hopped the bus and went to the hospital for my lab work, and I know I'm not supposed to judge people, but this next experience deserves its own paragraph.

I was tended to, as best I could tell given the conversation between the two ladies and the manner in which they approached me, one phlebotomist training an ex-ER nurse in the fine art of drawing blood from the stone that is me. The trainee (for lack of a better term) reminded me of someone I might've feared in the eighties because her hair would've been just as high as the length of her face, and the years haven't aged her well. She couldn't have been much older than me, but she had that voice- that voice- that sounded like she swallowed a whole pack of Marlboro Reds for breakfast and gargled with somethin' 150 proof. And the trainer (again, for lack of a better term) couldn't have been a sweeter, much older woman...very grandmotherly, all smiling and petite and patient. But have you heard of that crazy weird drug Krokodil that seems to be the new designer version of heroin (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Desomorphine), only it, like, eats your flesh and gives you all the side affects of crack and meth in a much quicker time span? Yeah, this woman's hands looked like that, and I couldn't stop staring. I will purposely avoid eye contact specifically to not uncomfortably wonder with my eyes what the hell's goin' on with them, but I totally failed. Here was this woman, poking my arms looking for veins, with her iced purple fingertips. If "suffocation" was a color in the 64-count box of Crayola crayons, that was what was touching me...like her fingerprints won a strangulation battle with her fingernails. I was thoroughly creeped out by this otherwise adorable senior citizen; I'd like to think that by staying motionless I maintained some sense of calm about myself, but then again there was a decent-sized needle in the top of my hand drawing my blood, so it's not like panicking and screaming "WTF is wrong with your weird fingers, strange lady?!" was exactly an option. Once I was done with that, I quickly made steps in the direction of the exits. I didn't stop to get my hoodie or my jacket on 'til I was at the main lobby of the hospital. Sorry for that little disturbing detour...carrying on...

I got back on the bus and went grocery shopping, which kinda went off hitchless, with the exception of me spending way more than I intended. Sure, I saved a lot of money too, but I only brought two arms and a tiny little backpack with me to carry all my crap. Which sucked. At least I have lots of Spaghettios and other assorted canned goods for when I'm unable to actually shop like a regular person. But rather than stop at the pharmacy on my way home to get my new meds, I had to actually go home first, drop off my purchases, and go back out. At least it was sorta warm (in a 44 degree kind of way) and sunny, and I didn't get hassled waiting for the script to be filled (but I did buy a few more food items...I love the brand of hummus Kinney Drugs carries). Safely made it home, and I'm regretting the decision I made last week not to get my other ankle checked out...my legs are absolutely spent, and I've been home for almost four hours now.

Anyway, so what would've my quote-unquote evil twin (don't quote me on the validity of his existence) been up to? Sleeping? Planting flowers at the old folks' home? Sitting on a log by a babbling brook writing odes to his dear, sweet love? No, although I wouldn't fault him if he were. I'm afraid I don't have a real answer for this entire scenario. A valiant effort again on the prompt, even if it's too hokey for my (admittedly weak) standards. Society is barely long enough to fit in one of me; two is certainly too many. I get tired thinking about my own exploits and experiences; I can't imagine trading stories with someone who also happens to share my exact DNA and genetic structure.

BCF PROMPT: "Are you able to drive? Were you? What do you remember about learning how to drive, if you did? If you didn't, why didn't you?"

Yes, I'm able to drive...but if you ask me I think it's overrated. We as a society make it out to be this big deal, "rite of passage" kind of thing, but I couldn't be more unimpressed by it. Maybe I've been lucky in that for good chunks of my adult life I've lived within a short enough walking distance to everything I've needed to have close by. Combine that with the unfortunate truth that nearly every friggin' time I've purchased a vehicle in my life, one of three things has happened (a job loss, an accident, or mechanical failure), and it becomes easier to learn ways to live that aren't dependent on automobiles.

I remember learning to drive as being sketchy at first. I'm sure I thought it looked a lot easier than it was, but having people screaming at you while you're making mistakes isn't beneficial either. I recall my mom practically having a violent heart attack while trying to back out of our driveway, which nearly led to me flooring the car into reverse and getting it stuck in a ditch across the street from our house...I believe that was the first and only time I drove with her.

My dad was the one who initially wanted me to have my license, but I don't think he thought the entire situation through at the time. I may have told this story before, and if you've already heard it feel free to move on to other things. Him and my stepmom had two vehicles...a busted-ass Mercury Marquis and a van. I'm unsure of the van's make and model, but it was doo-doo brown and most likely was at one time prior to their ownership someone else's home down by the river (you'll know what I'm talking about if you're familiar with this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l0YjSIkfkbU). After spending an afternoon at work with him distributing flyers for his friend's construction company, we stopped at the grocery store...and he asked me if I wanted to drive home.

Being the teenage heir to my father's throne of "well-intentioned but lacking in sense rationales", I jumped at the opportunity. Let the record show that we lived two blocks (or a total of one stoplight, one four-way stop with a signal, and one standard four-way stop) from the grocery store. I've never been more in fear of my life behind the wheel of a moving vehicle than that day in the summer of 1993.

Pop Diesel neglected to tell me until I coasted through the first intersection that the brakes on the van were "starting to go" and that I should "stomp hard on it" to get the van to stop. Again, it's a van. Not a minivan. Not a crossover SUV. A large vehicle with a sliding side door and plenty of cargo room in the back.

I couldn't get the behemoth to come to a complete stop at the next intersection either. I gave it just enough gas to get it going through that last full block, but with my foot on the floor the van still wouldn't stop. Our house was the second from the corner, next to what was at the time the local senior citizens' center...we sometimes parked in their lot because it was off-street and it was quick access to our back door. I idled through the lot and hit the brake with all my might, eventually resting the nose of the van a few inches deep in the bushes separating the parking lot from our backyard. I almost hit the "restricted parking" sign as well...how I didn't is a mystery only physics can probably answer. I maintain that had any damage occurred during the course of me driving, I should not have been at fault because I was not properly warned of the braking issues. Oh yeah, this happened in the early afternoon...broad daylight and all. It's amazing that I didn't kill anyone.

Eventually I paid for some lessons from a professional and got my license...a few more tense moments behind the wheel while I was still unexperienced led my folks to give up on me driving one of their vehicles for quite a long time. And I know my opinion doesn't necessarily count for much, but everyone should, at some point in their life, own a very fast car. Either indulge a life-long fantasy or get it out of your system when you're young, but it's a treat everyone should enjoy at least once. I've written enough today, so I'll save those stories for another time.

MUSICAL BREAK!!

While I was sitting on the bus earlier today and drifting into thoughts about what facts I'd possibly include in today's entry, the typically boring choices for this section came to mind..."Drive" by The Cars, and "Drive" by REM. Both are great songs on any other day, but sometimes it's not until I'm elbows-deep in this that I think of a way better song to include.

In twenty years (give or take) of being street-legal, I've seen enough accidents and too much idiotic behavior from other drivers to know that you can't trust at all the people operating these machines, even if you're forced to depend on them for any reason.

THE DAILY BOX SCORE:

No word yet on the next surgery date...I know there's no use in worrying about it over the weekend because I won't hear from anyone regarding it now until Monday, but it's in the back of my head that it's gonna happen (even though the realization of it all still hasn't actually settled in). I would've liked to have heard something about it (even if it was just to schedule my next appointment) but I've been dealing with this stupid leg for so long now that hell, what's another couple of days? <Insert "grrrr but not totally angry" face here.>

That's all I can take tonight y'all. I don't even know if I can stay awake long enough to read anyone's entries tonight, and I feel bad about not keeping up on that. Hopefully I can use the weekend to catch up and get into a better routine for the rest of the month. That should help keep my mind off my aches and pains. Peace, don't die, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!