Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.


So let me tell ya a little story...

Let me tell you a little story 'bout a gal named G. G. Monkey, to be exact. And how we met, became friends, lost touch, met back up again, and all that stuff.

I met G. Monkey the summer after she graduated from Prestigious Local University. I honestly don't remember who she trained with, but I do know she was from one of my earliest training groups. She had a wicked sense of humor, and the curliest freakin' hair I'd ever seen. (To this day she still holds that distinction.) I remember thinking she was neat to hang out with, but never really did much together until one of the infamous Borders Halloween Parties. She was the headless Marie Antoinette. I was Carmen Miranda. We bonded over our horrendously tall headgear. Or maybe this was the year she was Marge Simpson and I was the Dairy Fairy. I know it wasn't the Betty Boop duct taped boobs year (I can't remember what I was that year)... anyway, I was feeling rather awkward and drunk. She was feeling rather awkward and drunk. And we sat around talking about how much we really worked to hide the fact that 99% of the time we were scared shitless.

Somehow we started moving in the same circle- 80s night at the Village, Assorted parties... eventually she moved into another job, I ended up leaving Borders, and we sort of fell out of touch. Shit happens, eh?

Somehow she heard about an art show my mom was chairing, a few years later, and called to get some photos for a free weekly paper she was doing. I returned the call, and was introduced to Stoltz-a-ma-fus, and rekindled our old friendship. Found out the paper was doing a political issue, and ended up helping out- writing copy, being editorial assistant, and bearer/cooker of macaroni and cheese. Back then, stoltz-a-ma-fus didn't even have a pot to cook in. I had to bring my own pot, and my own boxes of mac and cheese to feed them, because they'd work all day without eating. I'd come over after my shift at the DMV and we'd have an awesome time on layout, and laugh over the articles we had (and yes, several prominent citizens wrote for us, pseudononymously).

Eventually that paper went under, and the new incarnation turned out to be run by a scam artist... G. Monkey got engaged to the fabulous Mr. G. Monkey... we crafted our asses off...They got married... I moved to Florida... I came back... worked with her for the Little Nonprofit that Can't hurt either one of us anymore... and through that all, we've been best friends, cohorts, sharers of the same brain, unapologetic schemers, crafty foxes, and have laughed, cried, and everything in between. I've helped her paint, broken her dryer knob, and made her laugh when I shouldn't have. She's kept me sane, inhaled a cubic meter of cathair every time she comes over, and knows almost all of my secrets. I couldn't ask for a better, more awesome friend.

And today she had a cat scan.

The headache that has ben really bothering her for the past week has gotten worse, and her left eye is a little bulgy. The doc's not sure what's wrong, and she won't get the results till tomorrow. And after all the shit she's had to put up with in her life (And believe me, there's an Augean stable full) she really, really doesn't need or deserve any more. I don't really do the prayer thing. I'd feel like an ass starting now. But I am thinking positive thoughts, and hoping to hell that everything's going to be OK. I know, just by the tone of her voice, that she is just barely keeping her shit together on the surface. Underneath it, I'm sure she's having the freakout to end all freakouts. So do me a favor, guys. Send G. Monkey some love. She needs it.


Blogger Special Sauce said...

So it was, apparently, an MRI, not a cat scan (The conversation's hazy- I had OG screaming at me during it). They still haven't gotten back to her because her shitty insurance made her go to some shitty place to get it done. Her doc freely admitted that if she had gone to the Giganto Mega Hospital, she'd know already... lovely.

She should know by 2 today (friday). I'll keep y'all posted. But in the meantime?

Greg the Bunny? Fucking HYSTERICAL. Greg the Bunny on DVD? Best. Thing. Ever.

6:36 AM  
Blogger AJ Gentile said...

Sending positive energy G.Monkey's way...

9:30 PM  
Blogger Special Sauce said...

Thanks AJ!

Here's the latest-

As of 3PM she hadn't heard anything, and the office closes at 4. Oh, they have the scans, but nobody has looked at them yet. And she is in excruciating pain. I offered to call up as her and threaten them, she declined.

If things are still bad, I'm going to suggest the ER tomorrow morning- at the GOOD hospital, because if they admit- I believe her insurance has to cover it anyway. It's a life-threatening emergency. (Because that much pain? Would make you want to kill yourself.)

Frustrating all around.

12:50 AM  

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