… but we’ll never know because it was cut down before its time. Snuffed out, as it were.
It had the makings of the best blog ever: My Parasitic Twin, booze, a home-grown and ill-advised surgical procedure, video footage, pain, humiliation, me arriving drunk at Wu’s door begging for free ER treatment … it had it all. It would have been hi-lar-ious.
It would be golden #standardviv moment.
It all started when I took Maddie Sparkle’s Sexy Lap Dance workshop with My Beautiful Dream Lover in almost full drag (i.e. no make-up) and I hurt my hand.
I’m not exactly sure when it happened because I was too busy trying to be sexy and not drop myself on my head to notice anything until afterwards, but I think all those partial handstands did something to the palm of my hand, right at the base of the middle finger.
Anyway, I noticed after class that my hand was sore and soon after a hard lump developed right about here …
… and it felt like something about the size of a pea was right under the skin.
Naturally I solicited free medical advice from all my pole dancing doctor friends (of which there are many, thank you very much) and the general consensus was a ganglion cyst.
Aka a Bible Cyst. It’s called that because the treatment is to smash it with a big book.
Of course that’s not the advice I got, it was something more tepid like ice, ibuprofen, etc. which is what all doctor types tell you when there is pretty much nothing they can do about it.
I hesitated to take matters into my own hands (har) even though my non-doctor friend told me that he had lanced his with an X-acto knife. Ugh.
Fast forward a month or so and it’s still there. It doesn’t hurt and generally doesn’t get in the way except when I’m making ceramics and the little lump kind of gouges the clay when I’m smoothing it with my palm.
Since I’m busting ass trying to get a set done for MPT before I leave for my Eastern Europe tour with Nina in 10 days, I’ve been busy and don’t need anything slowing me down.
I mentioned this to My Parasitic Twin this morning over coffee. I told her that I could try rupturing it myself but I’d need her help and a really big book so she pointed to an ENORMOUS volume of the Oxford English Dictionary on her coffee table.
What’s up with that? Ever heard of the internet?
This fucker was huge, definitely not the Kindle edition.
I was like, well … okay. Let’s do it. But she totally backpedaled on me (no big surprise given how she completely disappeared when it was time for me to shave her greasy pussy).
She was like, “I feel like we need to have a few drinks in us. For anesthesia.” That’s fair. Since Scratchy is having a little birthday get-together on Friday which always leads to drinks, I felt like that would be a good time.
I was all, “We’ll need video,” and she was like, “Uh, yah,” like I had said only the most obvious thing in the world which I kinda did.
All day I psyched myself up to do it, even getting the details together like how I would shoot the video, what I would say as a preamble, how I’d prep my hand with an X-marks-the-spot, how I would keep myself from flinching. How even if I broke my hand it would be worth it for the sheer blogability of it.
Somehow I’ve become the person who risks life (well not really life) but at least limb for the sake of the internet.
I was looking forward to it. It was going to be some of my best work. I would be all drunk, MPT and I would be screaming at each other like we always do, there would be kids and dogs running around the house in total chaos, and then she’s smash my fucking hand and I’d suffer magnificently and it would be totally great TV.
I was at the gym and going over my plan and I went to feel for it and it was gone. Completely.
It was like my hand knew what was happening and decided in a moment of self-preservation to INSTANTLY ABSORB the cyst and disappear it lest I break my hand before going to Europe.
No drunk post. No fail video. No #standardviv moment. It’s everyone’s loss, especially mine.
(And maybe Wu’s.)