It’s Too HOT for a Title — Insert Incessant Whining Here

So today I ducked out of work and went to yet another alternative-type:  a new acupuncturist.  I’ve been seeing a female acupuncturist for a couple of years, and haven’t been all that impressed with her.  Call me crazy, but when you walk out of the office with NEEDLES STILL IN YOU — TWICE — it’s a bit disconcerting.  I mean, doesn’t her job consist of two basic steps:  needles IN and needles OUT?  How effing difficult can that be?

The last time, I made it all the way home thinking:  Wow, that treatment must really be working!  I have little cramps in my lower abdomen and I’ve never felt that before. This must a good sign.

Turns out?  She left TWO needles in my stomach!  Now of course I’m the retard who didn’t notice the teeny tiny needles in my belly as I was zipping up my pants, but still.  STILL.  You’re very groggy after a treatment and I was obviously not searching for errant needles.  I wrongly assumed I was paying her to keep track of how many punctures she made and then to make sure she removed all the needles she stuck in me.

So needless to say, I’ve been asking around and heard good things about Dr. Pain.  (I’ll refer to him as that not because it was particularly painful, but his real name sounds a lot like ‘pain’ and I think it’s a funny name for a person trained to stick you with needles.) (I know. Such highbrow and clever comedy.)

Anyhoo, I went today and was sweating like a pig the entire time. It is, they claim, the hottest the earth has been in like 400 years and we’re having a heat wave in Northern California, so the combination of global warming and our hot streak has rendered me a whimpering cry baby, dragging my limp body around until I can get home and collapse on the couch.

So there I am, sweating profusely, looking for his office which is in a completely residential area.  No offices or medical buildings for miles around. 

As I walk up the front steps to a house, I think to myself:

Self, what the fuck?  Seriously, you moron, why are you always going to strange places — ALONE — to meet strange Asian men?  Why Why Why??

As it turns out his office is in his home, which is odd, but whatever, I roll with it.  He greats me at the door and says, "Please. Follow me." I think okay, he’s either 1) a reputable Doctor of Chinese medicine and this is all very normal LALALA or 2) a broker in the infamous white slavery rings of the Far East.  (I know!  Again with the white slavery thing…)

He checks my pulse, has me fill out some forms and looks at my tongue.  For the needling portion of my afternoon, I am told to lie face down on the table, using the head cradle (is any of this sounding familiar??).

Being face down?  Me NO likey!  I want to see the needles as they’re coming toward me, not be all surprised as he jabs me in the lower back and the ankles. It’s hard to relax, and of course he soon says "relax, take a nap."  My face is straining through the cradle, just like when you’re little and pull your skin really tight and say, "See Mom? My pigtails are too tight" and she puts the fear of God in you by saying that your face could freeze like that?  Remember?  Like that.

Despite the skin-pulling discomfort, the needles don’t hurt and I do manage to relax.  Time flies and soon it’s time to pay him and get my herbs. Which?  I was dreading.  DRA-DEAD-ING. I have tried these so-called Chinese herbs before and they are, without a doubt, the most disgusting, revolting, stomach-turning, gag inducing stuff known to man.  They come in little brown bags, and you can smell the pungent odor a mile away.  When you stupidly look IN the bags, they are filled with dried twigs, berries, white things, rotten nuts and God knows what. It could be newt eyes, bunny fur, horse hooves and human entrails for how good it smells.

And I am supposed to boil and choke down drink this concoction twice a day. And go back to see Dr. Pain next week.  And stop drinking coffee.  And stop eating salads, for crissakes, because apparently I have low-functioning kidneys and poor kidney chi and if I had a dollar for every time I heard that I could pay for frigging IVF three times over.

Bitter?  Me?  No. Bitter is the disgusting tea I’ll be enjoying later tonight.

Wish me luck!

Oh!  And he said, on my way out:

"No getting pregnant this month.  Wait one month or two month."  To which I said "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA." 

Like THAT would ever happen.