as you may know, my husband checked into the emergency room around 3am yesterday. his appendix ruptured and he needed surgery to get the infected appendix out and to clean up his abdomen--this procedure didn't happen until 6:15pm yesterday...this is something i like to call "hospital time." see, hospitals don't operate on normal people time..."they're taking him up in a few minutes" could be anywhere from 2 minutes (actually a few minutes) to 6 hours (not a few minutes. in fact, this is more than a few hours).
so, i've been thinking about what the hospital time equation might look like. i think it goes something like this:
size of doctor's ego (always huge) + pain^2 X actual time elapsed = hospital time
the surgery went well and we'll be going home in a few days. hospital time will continue to occur (like today when the doctor was coming in the morning...no, check that he's coming at 4...no, wait, he showed up at 5:30, took a call in the middle of the consult, cracked inapprop jokes and left).
have you ever had to live on hospital time? and how does one get back to miller time?
on your average workday morning (excluding friday's), i listen to the always funny howard stern show on my way to the office. some mornings, however, when traffic is bad or i'm over it before the day has started, i like to rock out to road rage music. you know the kind...when you turn the radio up loud and scream/shout the lyrics at the back end of the car in front of you. on mornings like this you don't care if the schmo in the car next to you sees you boppin' your heart out.
here's a sample of three songs from my road rage playlist:
1. so what, pink (this, at least for now, may also be my theme song)
2. billy jean, mj (who doesn't love a little billy? the kid is not my son)
have you noticed all the name/word games going on lately, especially on facebook? i hate all these notes people are writing. the most recent one i got was "the name note." essentially you identify your real name, then using a combination of your name, street names, and your parents' names, you come up with your porn star name, your street name, etc. ridiculous.
i'd like to introduce you to vincent dooly. he invented birds. yep. birds. when he scrambles his first and middle names, he comes up with invent destiny. because of this, he wants to be an inventor. awesome.
when i scramble my first and middle names, i get finnejer line. weird.
well, here it is...my second post about dog poop in under two months. (i'm starting to suspect that even though i just scored genius on the brain game, i may not be smart enough to walk my own dog.)
it's a great day here on the east coast...55 degrees and sunny--doesn't get much better for a saturday in february. K and i alighted on our morning walk and we decided on one of our alternate routes, which bypasses his favorite poop spot (i should know better, right?) and takes us past more houses than businesses.
wait, let me back up here...i always take two bags with me because once or twice he decided he needed to go more than once and i was left embarrassed with no pick-up mechanism. so, before we left i dutifully put two bags in my hoodie pocket.
ok, back to the walk. we're cruising right along and he decides it's time. i'm down, right? i have my bags...or do i? no, i don't! omg, where tf are they??? this is exactly what i ask him. he just flings his back legs in the air in response. omg. mortified. what do i do? RUN!!!
yep, kids. i left it. and i'm feeling horribly guilty. AND, ethel, don't think it hasn't already occurred to me that not only did i not clean up after my dog, but i sent two plastic bags into the great outdoors. i can only imagine where they are. they've probably killed 28 birds, a mouse, and suffocated the neighborhood cat.
jimmy the hog drover, argyle, and maybe a few others were discussing my life as a robot the other night at happy hour. we joked about how my obsession with c-sucker and my parking space has to do with "powering down" at the end of the night (according to them i don't even get out of my car, i just put my chin on my chest and go to sleep when i hit my parking spot--you can imagine the frustration i must feel when c-sucker's in my recharging spot).
as a high-functioning robot slash autistic, it's important that i keep up with robot news. this week they announced a new robot in the UK that has a brain that grows. they hope the robot will follow a similar evolutionary path as humans and become smarter over time.
soon us robots won't need recharging spots and our takeover of the human race will be complete. be scared, hog drover, my kind are taking over and your little vampire tricks won't be enough to stop your demise!
i feel like we should discuss what is going on in this picture...ok, hop is making me discuss this, but i'm happy to oblige...
this is a picture of exactly what you think it is...a cat in the back of a car...
here's what you may not know about the cat: first, he's stuffed (ok, maybe that one's obvi); second, he doesn't have legs or a face (weird...who wants a stuffed cat with no face?); third, somebody obviously intentionally put this in their car.
so, i know you've asked for fewer questions in my blog, but i have a few anyway:
1. be honest. is this your car? if yes, why? if no, stop lying.
2. how many live cats live in the home of the car's driver?
3. should jimmy the hog drover, who is as equally committed to his herd as this person, also have a stuffed, faceless, legless hog in his car? (the answer here is a resounding yes.)
4. (this one's for hop) what do you think the driver's house smells like?
i'll go first.
1a. no, this is not my car. i can't help lying about it...i'm embarrassed