Smackie Onassis is a Hypochondriac

By now, some of you may have noticed that I'm something of a hypochondriac. Sometimes I figure it's better to get my neurotic medical worries checked out, even if it might be nothing. After all, I could have Jumping Frenchmen of Maine Disorder or something equally as wonderful.

But recently I was going to a bunch of doctors for some actual real symptoms I was having. I had about four different sets of blood tests, each coming back with something different that they needed to follow up on. Because I go to a free clinic, I had a new doctor almost every time I went. My favourite would have to be a wonderfully straight-forward Vietnamese doctor who seemed to approach medicine with the attitude of someone selling fresh produce at a market. What follows is actually a fairly accurate transcription of the end of one of our consults:

Doc: Ok, I'll order tests for these things.

Me: Sure. Will I need to fast?

Doc: You wanna fast?

Me: I guess I could fast...

Doc: You fast, I'll throw in tests for cholesterol and diabetes.

Me: Deal.

At first it seemed most likely that the stomach problems I'd been having were caused by acid reflux, an after effect of that damn flip. So, I tried some treatments for that, taking the pills and drinking milk to settle my stomach, something I'd heard worked wonders. Unfortunately the problem actually turned out to be lactose intolerance, so I'm not sure the milk really helped too much.

It seems like a cruel joke to make me lactose intolerant. I love cheese more than anyone else I know. You've got a chocolate bar, I can take it or leave it. But a thick chunk of matured cheddar and I am all over that like a bitch on heat.

Here is a flow chart of how the average meal/snack worked for me prior to this lactose business:

One of my favourite hobbies up until now was shopping for discounted cheese, combining my love of salty dairy produce with my other true love: bargains. I remember once finding such a good deal on a wedge of blue cheese that I had to buy it, despite leaving for Melbourne later that afternoon. I managed to get through a surprising amount of that cheese in those short few hours before my flight and I regret nothing.

Not being able to eat cheese has seemed crueller and crueller as the days have passed. First it was finding myself hungry at a party, with little more to eat than Cheezels and Cheetos, two of my favourite foods that I can no longer consume without "consequences"*. Then, wandering to the shops and seeing a deli that suddenly had free tastings of French Roquefort, one of my favourite stinky cheeses that I haven't been able to afford for a while and now, tragically, can't eat. It all started to seem like an elaborate prank played on me by my stupid jerk housemates.

I even found myself gazing longingly at a picture of a big, round thing of blue cheese on a facebook ad. Until I looked closer and realised it was actually a hat.

I am officially a cartoon character.

-Smackie Onassis

P.S. Four votes on my poll have somehow resulted in a four way tie! Come on, children, don't let it end this way!

*Butt consequences

Driving: It's Not The Greatest

I have been driving for some time now. Unlike many people I know, I got my license as soon as I was legally able to. Of course that doesn't mean I really actually like driving. In my adult life I have been reliant on more modes of transport than most people: car, bicycle, scooter, public transport. And, to be honest, I don't really like driving a car. Quiet country roads are ok, but driving in traffic stresses me out more than you can imagine.

Admittedly, one of the best compliments I ever got for my driving was a guy who said in all sincerity:

"I like driving with you, Sarah. It's like being on a ride."

Th-thanks? I guess?

It's not that I'm not a good driver. I am, at the very least, competent in not causing people grievous bodily harm when I get behind the wheel. I remember talking to my first housemate about this subject once. She confessed that she'd had no less than 12 accidents in her driving career, all of which were her fault. Two of which involved her driving into shop fronts. I asked her how she possibly managed to get insured with a record like that and she informed me that her actual record was clean because she'd never reported any of the incidents. Guys: I'm not that bad.

My dislike for driving a car can probably be traced back to when I was first learning. I was being taught by my dad, driving around quiet streets in Newcastle. One day, we started getting a bit adventurous and ventured onto a slightly busier road. In a nightmarish scenario for anyone who is just learning to drive, the brakes failed. What makes it worse is that my father didn't believe me that the brakes had failed and just thought I was doing something wrong. Luckily, I managed to get us home safely with Dr Dad chastising me all the way for not using enough brake. I parked the car with the handbrake and went inside to collapse in my room in a nervous heap. About ten minutes later, he knocked on the door and confessed that he'd looked at the car and discovered that the brakes were actually completely shot and we were lucky that we hadn't been in a serious accident. Excellent news for any 16 year old L plater.

But I did go on to get my license and drive relatively safely for many years. When I moved to South Australia, I spent a long time not driving simply because I don't have a car. Luckily the public transport here is decent enough that I didn't really need one. Nowadays, Meattrain trusts me enough (for some reason) to let me borrow his car from time to time.

I can remember the first time this happened. It was late and Vegatrain and I wanted to do a Maccas run for some tasty no-meat cheeseburgers (don't knock it until you try it you guys). Meattrain said that if we brought him back some real man's food, I could borrow his car. The problem with that was that I hadn't driven a car in about six months and had spent the last three days playing a substantial amount of Grand Theft Auto. Not a great combination. I climbed behind the wheel and my instant reaction was 'Ok, let's ram some cop cars! What guns do we have in case we see some hookers?'

Luckily, our destination was only five minutes away so nothing drastic happened.

-Smackie Onassis