It's not that I have nothing to say, it's just that you can't hear me
Last Tuesday- Finn spent the night at my parent's house so hubby and I went out for a much-needed kid free evening. After much deliberation we decided on a newer hot spot in Belltown for a good meal. Once entering said establishment we noticed something odd... not a single person there eating food, just a bartender and a guy running around who told us to sit anywhere... oh, and there was also a dog walking around. We decide this will NOT be where we eat our actual meal, but how can a drink and a couple appetizers be a bad idea. Eat... drink... leave.
We walk down the street and find a place that is packed. We sit, drink, and eat.
Last Wednesday- The stomach cramps started at about 2 am. I was sick until Friday... a day and a half of missed work... but all is fine by Saturday.
Yesterday, Sunday- Sleep in and feel good. By about 11am my voice gets a little scratchy. Noon hits, my voice is a little worse where people are beginning to notice a bit. Two in the afternoon, I sound like I am a bar hag that smokes 5 packs of cigarettes a day. Six or so, I have lost my voice completely... not the I-can-still-make-you-understand-me way... but the I-am-a-full-on-mute way.
Monday- It is 3:30am. I can't talk. I can't sleep. This is fucked.
every day
Every day you put your glasses in your top pocket. Every day you bend over and they fall out onto the autopsy floor. Every day you yell and swear that your fucking glasses ended up on the floor. Every day I smile.
Parade Me
Just got back from the Solstice Parade here in Seattle. We are now trying to decide if we want to join the naked bicyclists next year or make a float of our own... decisions, decisions.
sucky sucky
The fact that today I have had two separate discussions with two separate people about fluffers has to say something about me.
File under too much information
When you told me about your 2-foot long turd I was a touch horrified... the camera phone picture of it made me realize just how sick you are.
I told him this is something you need not share... especially with your co-workers.
Where you can see just how flawed my reasoning skills can be
A few years ago a co-worker and I walked to a near by popular Baja style restaurant for lunch. We visited the salsa bar loading up on our favorites, Salsa Verde, Spicy Chipotle Salsa and Picco Di Gallo.
Once our food arrived we began our meals and noticed that the Picco Di Gallo had a different taste than usual. Because we first couldn't decide just how/why the taste was different, we loaded up on more of the salsa and furthered our tasting research.
Does it taste bad? No, just funny. Does it taste too acidic? No. (We go back for more, loading up our plates.) Is it a funny combination of their usual ingredients? No, it looks the same as always. Does it taste too salty? Yes! It's too salty. After immense amounts consumed we conclude it tastes too salty, case closed.
I was peacefully making my way home when I began to have some gastric distress. I was beginning to think that there might be something wrong with me when I realized I needed to evacuate my stomach contents. I was able to pull into my driveway, jump out of the car, and get the house alarm off before I threw myself to the floor of the bathroom with gut in full spasm... I proceeded to vomit for hours.
When I was finally able to get off of the floor I dialed my co-worker to see how she was feeling. She said she was fine, did not feel sick, it was all me. I hung up the phone, leaned over the toilet, and once again began to absolve my innards of all contents.
An hour later my phone rings... the co-worker is in the throes of projectile vomiting. My god, it must have been the salsa... perhaps the odd taste was an indication for us not to eat it.
We were unable to go to work for two days.
Since the previous event we have returned to the aforementioned restaurant dozens of times, but we have learned our lesson... if it tastes funny don't eat it.
Peer pressure at its best
We have no autopsies today, so I have been working at my desk with a pair of nitrile gloves on (our hospital is going latex free don't you know). I have filled them full of lotion (my hands were feeling dry). I now have two others doing the same... apparently lunacy is contagious.
note to self
May not be a good idea to allow child to drink 3 huge cups of juice with breakfast, and then proceed to carry him like a 30-pound newspaper under my arm running up the stairs to daycare when he asks to go potty. This causes child to vomit.
our menagerie
Hoover- the damn dog
She has a multitude of fetishes... loves eating cat shit, bars of soap, and tubes of toothpaste.
Darwin- the old lady
She has a few quirks... don't pet her back, she only drinks out of the faucet, and will not go to the bathroom outside... only in her litter box.
Tuna Fish- middle animal syndrome
He is insane... if you make him mad he will shit on your pillow, he stalks Darwin, and is deathly afraid of the dog.
Fish in a bowl- the lone fish
Has moved to California and back in a bucket, outliving at least a hundred other fish. Is 9 years old.
Have you ever laughed so hard you peed your pants?
Every month at the hospital the mobile blood bank spends a day poking and prodding at the arms of any willing volunteers. If you have given blood you know the routine... fill out form, go behind partition, have tiny little pin poked into finger that so hurts like hell, have blood pressure/pulse/temp checked, and a barrage of questions asked of your sexual habits. If you are turned down for any reason you then have to walk past the others in line who stare at you with their half smiles thinking... "Ha, I knew you were a whore".
My coworker and I always joke about our whore status with the blood bank. We have each been ousted from donating for a year because of occupational needle sticks. A few weeks ago we had a slow day at work and headed off to wait in the long line.
After my interview I was accepted and put on a cot where they began to drain my blood. My coworker however was not on a cot, she once again had been deemed whore and asked to come back another time. (This may be where I should tell you it was only for a low iron count). When I was done I placed my "Be nice to me I donated blood today" sticker on my scrub jacket just to rub it in.
Coworker leaves for three days on vacation... during this time I alter sticker to say "Be nice to me I couldn't donate blood today because I'm a whore" which I then placed on her scrub jacket.
She returns to work Thursday... I decide to take that day off.
Friday... after I finish a case I am working on I notice that she is wearing her jacket, and the sticker is still there. She has been wearing her jacket for two full days without noticing anything. She had gone to multiple meetings and had walked all around the hospital. I point out sticker and we start to laugh. We laugh about it all day. She takes off jacket and sets it back on her chair.
Monday I meet her in a meeting... the sticker is still on her jacket. Once we leave the meeting, thru my tears of laughter I am able to motion towards her sticker. We laughed so hard I nearly pissed myself.