I yell at Siri. A lot. Not as much as I used to, but still more than I should.
At first we didn’t understand each other:
“Siri, call my mom.”
“I don’t know who your mother is. As a matter of fact, I don’t know who you are.”
Hand to heart, that robot bitch said that to me. Can you get your feelings hurt by a computer? Apparently. I said some horrible things to her about where she could put her ones and zeros and then read my owner’s manual. Well…flipped through my owner’s manual until I found the part that told me I had to program my own info into the phone.
Oh. Sorry Siri. I take back the part about shoving your you-know-what you-know-where.
We still had our ups and downs. It was all very Hollywood celebrity like with public declarations of love and jokes (Haha, look everyone! Watch what happens when I ask Siri where can I hide a body!) during the good times and lots of cursing and name calling with me asking where to hide HER body during the not so good times.
My children began to pick up my phone and yell at it.
“SIRI! LISTEN TO ME!”
“THAT’S NOT WHAT I SAID, SIRI!!”
Even now, when Purple hears Siri speaking he’ll give an indulgent head shake coupled with a soft chuckle…”Oh Siri…”
We kind of have a messed up relationship. I am actually for real worried about hurting her feelings so I will pick up the phone and apologize to her after I yell. Because I wouldn’t want Obama to think I was rude.
So it wasn’t too strange when I recently asked Siri:
“Siri. Look up acne after finishing Prednisone.”
And she said,
“Acting after Beethoven. I’m not sure. Shall I look that up for you?”
“NO. ACNE. AFTER. PREDNISONE.”
“Acne without predictions.”
“Close. FINISHED PREDNISONE. ACNE.”
“Finishing predatory accounting.”
“OH FUCK STRAIGHT OFF, SIRI!”
I hauled my butt over to the computer and managed to type in my question.
“OH YES!” said Google! “Lots of problems with acne after finishing Prednisone!”
Because this was happening to my face.
And this was happening on the other side:
And it was on my chest and arms. Not nearly that bad but still there.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m can’t say I haven’t fallen asleep before without washing my face but this…oy.
(Also can I say…steroid swelling almost totally gone! Yippee Von Skippie!)
I made an appointment with my baby dermatologist (not a derm for babies…literally a very young doctor. With silky smooth skin that I try not to stare at too much) and was lucky enough to get in the next day (mostly because I think my doctors are fascinated with my weird skin and the chance that I may not be wearing underwear…IT ONLY HAPPENED ONE TIME!)
So there I was at my appointment (pants on, thanks very much!) kind of hoping the doctor would walk in and say, “Oh gracious! You’re reverse aging! Lucky you! Look, you have the ass of a 22 year old girl again!” And I would say, “Oh doctor, you rascal!” and pinch his adorably smooth cheeks and saunter out to drink a cup of ranch (as one can do in their 20s).
Instead he walked in and said, “Well that looks like a lupus rash.”
Excuse me very much, Doctor? Don’t you know that I JUICE?
Guess who has 2 thumbs and got her cocky, little(ish), still regrettably 39 year old butt taken down a notch.
Because I honestly forget that I DO have an autoimmune! And though I manage my symptoms (cough cough *incredibly* cough) well, I still HAVE it. And therefore am subject to some of the rules.
Like…stay out of the sun! It’s autoimmune sun rash! Sumbitch.
“Have you been out in the sun a lot?” asked the doc.
To which I answered:
Those bikes. They have new bikes and they want to ride them 24/7. They jump on me at 7 freaking a.m., prying my eyelids open and yelling, “LET’S GO RIDE BIKES!” Middle of the day? “BIKES!” Before dinner. Bikes. After dinner. Bikes. I’ve replaced vasculitis for bikeulitis. But of course I’m not going to complain. Ride away. Wear yourselves out.
Except that we live on the surface of the sun.
When the doctor asks, “Do you wear sunscreen?” I do what any normal person paying hundreds of dollars a month for medical insurance would do and I lie.
“I sure do!” Because I mean, hello! My moisturizer has some spf in it! And sometimes I remember to put it on! And then my makeup has it too so that’s practically like wearing a spf spacesuit, right??
My doctor is too polite to challenge me (because he respects his elders) and instead exchanges a raised eyebrow with his nurse which I believe is medical for, “BUUUULLLLSHIIIT.” He also tells me to buy some protective clothing and hats and to be good about staying out of the sun during peak hours, dumbass. Okay, he doesn’t SAY dumbass but I’m pretty sure he’s thinking it.
So now I’m THAT girl in one of THOSE hats. And sun shirts. And I’m not one of those people that carries off a hat with aplomb (SAT word!). I think I’m going to look like this:
But instead I look like this:
But dorky is still better than that rash! Brutal! And I guess no one in their 60s ever said, “Oh I wish I’d spent more time uncovered out in the sun. This creamy, unlined skin is the WORST!”
And Kyle is super duper extra sweet and SWEARS he loves me in my hats…I knew never making fun of his CROCS WITH SOCKS(!!) would eventually pay off.
Besides none of it really matters because you and I both know…it’s all Siri’s fault.