Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Well, the ticket has been booked. On Sept. 26th, I will be returning to Illinois. That means that my hip has 18 days to get itself into the kind of shape that will tolerate my jet-setting lifestyle (and by 'jetsetting' I mean 'escaping to a place where I do not have to pay $1000 a month for the privilege of having junkies defecate on my doorstep'). My hip and I are leaving on a jet plane and we don't know when we'll be back again. Oh, babe, we hate to go.

My hip is in for a rude awakening if it thinks that life in Illinois will even vaguely resemble the high life we've been living here in British Columbia. In fact, the closest we're going to get to the high life in Urbana is Miller High Life...and that will be our fancy beer for special occasions, since we will only be able to afford PBR. (Is it a little disconcerting that I am still making a distinction between myself and my freaky cyborg hip? Does this suggest a lack of post-surgical adjustment?) 

Yes, hip, all the little luxuries will be gone. Instead of a Temperpedic king-sized mattress, we'll be sleeping on a twin Ikea mattress that cannot be put on a bedframe because it is too short and my feet hang off the end. Instead of showering our lazy ass while sitting down on a shower chair, we'll be performing tall-girl gymnastics trying to rinse off my hair in a shower that's over a foot shorter than I am, (though hopefully this will be fixed by the time I get back because my landlord rocks). Instead of sampling muscle-building protein from mom's delicious pot-roast, you'll be battling an onslaught of preservatives and sulphides as you try to glean some nutrition out of Lean Cuisine pressed chicken. And your daily chai latte: forget about it. We'll be making our own by boiling leaves and roots and stealing milk from those weird-eyed goats at the local petting zoo (okay, not really, but we will be buying chai concentrate at the store and mixing in the milk our own damn selves). Get ready, hip. Since I'm not teaching Rhet 105 anymore, I've been forced to write a syllabus for Slumming It 101....and I have only one pupil. 

And for those of you who live in Champaign-Urbana, if the tornado siren starts up in 18 days, don't worry. It's just the local authorities alerting you to the fact that Hurricane Arley is on the horizon and you should probably secure your house keys, car keys and any other hard-to-replace valuables before I lose them. And while your at it, maybe start locking your window, because I might be breaking in to watch the NBA on TV, since I won't have cable. Believe me, the last thing you want is to come home to find me hanging part-way in your window, since my freaky cyborg hip didn't have enough strength to boost me all the way through. Champaign-Urbana, brace yourself. You've been warned.

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