I went to the naturopathic doctor then other day to discuss infertility treatments. She asked questions that went far more in depth than I expected. ( A detailed description of a fetus being eaten out of a womb would have been sunshine and roses, trust me.) She informed me that I have too much heat going on and I was all Yeah, no shit! Have you seen me after work? All booger covered and smelling of a weird mix between bleach and wax crayons. Muy Caliente…
But apparently that’s not what she meant which is totally false advertisement, or insulting. Wait, was she calling me fat? That bitch. No I guess there are all these different balances you have to have in your body; hot and cold, wet and dry. Wet; who the fuck thought of the word moist? I would really like to know because there is no occasion I can think of where that word is appropriate and doesn’t give me nightmarish visions. I have a thing about body functions. It’s genetic I think, Jimi has it too.
She told me I need to stop eating carbs while she stuck me up like a porcupine with a heat lamp on my lady bits to channel the flow of energy, or to turn me into Dr. Manhattan. I’m not sure which.
Then she told me to chart my temperatures and start taking evening primrose oil (to transform me into Jane Bennett, I imagine) and phlegm transforming tablets (to turn me into that woman from Poltergeist or that big wad of lougie that grosses me out every time I turn on the tv, the similarity is striking.*)
For years now I’ve been trying anything under the sun to get a little tea-cup human. It’s infuriating, hot flash, moist (see how sick is that word!) and always overly hormonal. Of course, I really just want children so I can use them for my evil plan to bring down Caruso. That smug bastard.
*So I just realized that she died. Now that makes me a huger asshole then I was before for comparing an actress to a pile of phlegm.