2003-08-10 at 4:09 p.m.

Lately, I've been visiting the doctor a lot. Well, a lot for me, usually. In the last four or so years, I'd only been to the doctor three times- once because of hayfever, and a couple more times because of hearing problems. Until lately, that is.

Why? Well, sparing you the details of my, ahem, plumbing, let's just say that things are Not As They Should Be.

After numerous blood tests and an ultrasound (Ultrasound guy- "Look, there's your liver". Me- "Whaddaya know! Didn't think I had one of those anymore") the doctor could find nothing conclusively wrong with me. Turns out it's not just my personality that likes being pointlessly obtuse, but my body as well. Anyway, long story short, he's prescribed me The Pill.

The irony of this is not lost on me.

Even more amusing is that the version I'm taking is called 'Juliet'. Juliet? Who the heck thinks up these names? It could have been worse, though- there's another type on the market called 'Brenda'. Brenda. It'd be like having your insides chaperoned by someone's 45 year old maiden aunt who wears fuzzy pink cardigans and hair clips with butterflies on them.

Anyway, I've started taking 'Juliet', and, thankfully, haven't metomorphosized into a sixteenth-century romantic heroine. However, if I start to develop a penchant for cleavage enhancing velvet dresses and tragically doomed love affairs, I'll be sure to make make a note of it- moments before running myself through with an ornate silver bodice dagger.

Kyle and I went shopping for props for my 'Musicus Ridiculus' concert yesterday.

Shopping with Kyle is never a good idea, as illustrated by yesterday's little expedition.

We were looking in one of those warehouse type stores that are stocked floor-to-ceiling with stupid, cheap, ugly, pointless crap, much of it make of some form of polyresin. We were strolling down the toy aisle and peering with a mixture of horror and amusement, when Kyle discovered The Sheep Mask.

Truly, it was one of the most ugly masks I've ever encountered. Made of cheap, strong-smelling latex, and depicting a sheep whose expression can only be described as 'pissed off and harbouring homicidal tendencies'. Kyle, of course, thought this was the greatest thing ever, and put it on.

"Baa", he said.

"Kyle, you are an idiot" I replied.

Undeterred, Kyle got down on his hands and knees in the middle of the aisle. "Baaa!" he said, more insistantly this time. "Baaaaaaaaa!"

"You are a strange and unusual person, Kyle Williams, you know that, right?"

"Baaa" he replied, attempting to rub his side against the shelves on his right in what he clearly thought was a display of sheeplike agreeability. Unfortunately, in doing this, he managed to knock down a pile of plastic containers, which landed on the back of his left leg and teetered there.

The word "Crap!" was muffled by the latex mask when Kyle realised that he couldn't move without sending the containers flying. Somehow, he carefully managed to replace them on the shelf, stood up, and sheepishly (ba-zing) removed the mask.

We looked at each other for several seconds, grinning. I opened my mouth.

"Idiot".

I repeated the word "idiot" at least fifteen times during our shopping trip. Mostly after we discovered the rubber chickens.

Ah, the rubber chickens.

I have always wanted one of these. I guess since they're so synonymous with comedy, and particularly since I'm running a comedy concert. They also emit a loud squeaking noise, which is great, comedically, but not so great when you're out shopping with a friend who finds it necessary to squeeze one of the damn things approximately every four-and-a-half seconds.

"Kyle, would you mind not doing that?"

"Doing what?"

*SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEAK*