Jesus turns 32 while I battle West Nile

Friday marked a very important date in the history of the Catholic Church. No, I got that wrong — Friday marked a very important day for my friends and I because Jesus (pronounced hay-soos for those unfamiliar with Latin culture) turned thirty two. Naturally we got together for for a big alcoholic buffet with side platters of Zoloft and Malibu Rum cherries. Friends indeed — Omar and Merce walked me to my car afterwards, afraid I'd get lost along the way.

But I'm getting ahead of myself …

I'm such a boy about going to the doctor. I never get sick (or I'd like to think) and I heal quickly like that comic book character Wolverine. But for two weeks I haven't slept more than an hour at a time without waking up with godforsaken neck pains. Troubled and confused that my mutant powers were malfunctioning, I hung my head in shame, made the appointment to see my doctor and anxiously awaited his diagnosis. He made it perfectly clear that I couldn't drink when I took the medication he was prescribing, and that I should in fact take two each night before bed. Seriously afraid that I was battling the West Nile virus — but more afraid that I wasn't beating said virus, like really quickly — I graciously accepted the prescription. It was for muscle relaxers.

To me, prescriptions are more like movie tickets; the person at the counter gives them to you with four other pieces of paper that look exactly the same and somehow your expected to fish 'em out a few minutes later for the ticket tearing person while the line gradually becomes more anxious and angry behind you. So much like a movie ticket, I managed to loose it in about thirty seconds and just forget about it for a few days.

But I still couldn't sleep.

I finally found the prescription in my car when I was reaching for some stale Trident gum in the driver's side door. Even if I didn't take them all, I could always sell them on the black market, right? Who wouldn't want muscle relaxers? I gave the pharmacist my paper and she looked at me. She just looked at me, then "Have you ever bought from us before?"

"I've never bought drugs from anyone," I said. I was equally alarmed that she thought I was a user and that I didn't know the proper procedure with my pharmacist dealer. And that was that, she made me promise that I would not take the meds on beer or alcohol and that I'd only take one a night. One a night? My doctor said take two.

Fast forward to the party …
I'm offered a drink from the first person I meet when I walk in the door. "Um. No thanks." I'm offered a second drink from the birthday boy. "I can't. I'm uh ... (on meds)," I whisper. I sit down next to a big girl talking trash about the pretty girl that just walked in the door.

"Here. Take this!" She said an then she tries to force a rum filled cherry down my throat! She pushes it against my lips, I whip around in my chair, and then turn back and shout.

"I CAN'T DRINK! I'm on medication." I clearly state.
"Which one?"
"Zoloft."
"Me, too. It's in my purse. Want some more?"
"Um, I was just kidding." Freak.

So the party was odd. I got force fed a fat chick's cherry and I managed to keep people out of the party by not being bright enough to learn how to open the front door. Let me explain. I swear I'm not that stupid.

Did you ever see Jurassic Park? Remember the part where the velosaraptors learned how to open the door by pushing the handle down and then pushing the door open? Well, this was like so much harder. Really. I ran up to the newly cleaned glass door and pushed on the large bar and assumed it open. Nothing happened. The people on the other side semi-smiled. My smile turned to worry, I looked at them and with my eyes I said, "I can't help help you." So I booked it and ran back to the Zoloft girl with a glowing tit (she said it was her phone).

Someone must have opened the door for those poor sad people at the front door, they were dancing and drinking a few minutes later. I'm told that if I press the green button near the door, it opens.

I hear the door bell, someone else arrived — I can finally be helpful! I ran to the door. I pressed the green button. And nothing happens. The door doesn't swing open so I pressed it again. And again. And again. I hit the green button with all the life in me when I heard Jesus (that's "hay-soos") call to me. "Lonnie," he said, "hit the button and open the door ... at the same time!" Oh, that's all?

I do what he said and it opens just fine. But come on, the button is like four feet away from the door. No one in a wheel chair, an eight grade education, or with short arms is going to have what it takes to open such a door. But thanks to Jesus any ol' velosaraptor can do it. Now that's evolution! Happy birthday Jesus.