I'm blushing

So, at the end of the shift, I did a quick assessment on a new patient. I gave report while my partner, Mike G, was busy charting. As we later continued to give report, he looked at me and said "Did you give head?" This was the unfortunate last name of the patient I had assessed and given report on.
So, being the witty individual I am, I said "Isn't that rather personal?"
Well, color me blush! Didn't poor Mike turn 10 different shades of red. And didn't Martin snicker to himself.
Oh, I love my job!!

Duh

Once upon a time there was a silly man. He saw a bat flying in his house and came to the ER. He was not bitten, scratched or in any way in contact with the bat.
BUT...he might have contracted H1N1. Perhaps when pigs fly, but until then....tool of the day.

Because I can

We have a tracking system at work which allows us to indicate where patients are placed for ease of locating. This system also indicates the nurse or nurses working in each area.
For fun, we have been competing to see who can come up with the wittiest name for the nurses in a given area. So far we have named each other: Miss Piggy, Captain Kirk, Deanna Troi, Bert and Ernie, Oscar and Kermit, etc....you get the jist of it.
In looking for new names to call people, I came across the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition....they are a species on Star Trek: Deep Space 9, and have much to teach us. Here are a selection of their rules:
Rule 10: Greed is eternal
Rule 31: Never make fun of a Ferengi's mother...insult something he cares about instead
Rule 40: She can touch your lobes but not your latinum
Rule 45: Expand or die
Rule 48: The bigger the smile, the sharper the knife
Rule 59 Free advice is seldom cheap
Rule 60: Keep your lies consistent
Rule 104: Faith moves mountains...of inventory
Rule 112: Never have sex with the bosses sister
Rule 113: Always have sex with the boss
Rule 141: Only fools pay retail
Rule 266: When in doubt, lie

Something to note

When using a blender, turn it off before inserting you hand.

The good thing about a new space

Our ER has recently vacated its old space and entered into the 21st century. Gone are the days of ECG machines that do not work, absent thermometers, under staffing. Gone is the Pepto-pink and bile green paint, the sub-zero temperatures, the lack of basic items such as blankets for the patients (and staff).
Now, in our new state of the art facility we have it all! We have color coded areas for ease of identification....accept for the fact that all areas have the same colored walls and drapes, so no one really knows where they are.
Now we have one thermometer for 2 Triage nurses and the Resource nurse to share.
Now we have a paging system that will only page in one area instead of the whole department. But not to worry...I found shouting "I need help" is as good as any paging system.
Now we have items stocked by...well, I don't know how they decided the system. Similar items are not grouped together, which makes for a frustrating search for that elusive piece of equipment, what ever it may be.
Now we have ARJO...the miracle cleaner (I do, however, think it should be renamed Earl). Just pop you dirty bedpans, urinals, and commode buckets into it and viola! 5 minutes later it is fresh as a daisy and ready for use by any other patient. Yup, any other patient can use that bedpan your poopy patient has just used! Yuck!
Now we have heat..well, we had it today anyway, and only after the Honeywell guy had to come in and fix the system as it was 60 degrees in the department and hypothermia was not the indicated treatment plan for any of our patients.
Now we have medications carts whose drawers are stuck open, and whose batteries have died and cannot be accessed. But that's OK. Cause who needs drugs in the Trauma room anyway?
Now we have a broadcast system that can indicate a Code Red...in the rapid ringing Evacuate mode. But don't worry, as our Security team was all over that one by paging "Disregard Evac Mode, Code Red continues". We never did find out where the fire was....but I suspect it had something to do with the Honeywell guy.
Now we can enjoy our days off as our staffing is spot on...except for the 4 OT shifts I worked in the past 2 weeks .
Yup, things are coming along nicely in the 21st century. I love our new home!

Enough already

Ok, so my ghost is just annoying now. Last night I smelled a sudden waft of smoke, like a candle being blown out. I asked Dale if he smelled it, but he didn't. He, however, could smell cookies baking and wondered if I had started a batch (like I would do that!). And then Lesley came down stairs wanting to know if we were baking anything as she could smell pastry.
I think my ghost is trying to tell me something, like get off your butt and feed your family....

The ghost update.

My house ghost has been a bit annoying lately. He/she usually moves the drapes, sends a waft of lilacs about, or allows you to catch a glimpse out of the corner of your eye. All pretty mellow by ghost standards.
But lately, things have gotten a bit annoying. My bedroom door is being knocked on again...loudly. And he/she has now taken to poking at me when I am in bed. At first I thought I was imagining it, but the pokes were very distinct. I was being prodded, and it was bugging the hell out of me.
So after a few days of this nonsense, I said out loud "Just stop it, OK?" My hand was gently patted, and I haven't been bothered since.

United we stand

I have been grossly negligent in my blogging. Life has been busy, but mainly in a good way, and I am all for that.
However, I have also had the misfortune of experiencing loss with my ER family lately, and when loss comes to you door, it does so in a big way.
We in the ER have had 2 of our family lose their spouses within a 4 day period of time. These losses were unexpected, and have left behind grieving wives and children. It has been overwhelming and unimaginable.
So to those who have experienced loss, we are here for you. Together we have resources available to help you. We will stand by you.

My poor poo....

I had Shelby and Dale out for a walk on Thursday. It was certainly warm by this summers standards, but not unbearable. After our walk, and a few swims for Shelby, we stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few dinner items.

Given the warmth, we made sure that all the windows were open in the van, and kept our in-store trip to 20 minutes. We didn't want Shelby to over heat.

On Friday morning we were on our way to the cottage, but Dale wasn't feeling well. We turned around in Bowmanville, and I dropped Dale at home before going to the dog park again. I already had Shelby in the car, so why not take her for a little jaunt?

We had been walking for about 5 minutes when I noticed her gait was off. It was really wide, and her back seemed to be sagging. I called her name, and she turned to me, but now she was staggering. By the time she reached me, she was losing her balance.

I was panic-stricken! I cannot remember the last time I had felt that cold fear. Shelby tried to get up off the ground but could not. I tried to carry her towards the main path to get help, but was not very successful. We sat in the middle of the path, her saliva thick and frothy, and her breathing rapid and labored. She was twitching, and had her head on my lap just looking at me with those big brown eyes. I was in tears.

Luckily a couple came along the main path. i called out for help and the fellow came over. I can understand the look in his eye as I sat there with my frothy dog, but regardless he offered to help me carry her to the car. What a kind person he was.

Instead I used his phone to call Dale, asking him to come help me and to bring a blanket to carry Shelby in. Poor Shelby! She was trying to bark at this stranger, but couldn't summon up a decent woof. She was trying to stand, but kept falling over.

While we sat in the shade I had all kinds of terrible thought...what was wrong? would she need to be put down? It was close to unbearable and made me cry even more, because all Shelby could do was look at me with utter confidence. I took pictures of her lying in the grass in case I was not going to have a chance to take her picture again.

When Dale arrived she sat right up. She barked her big bark, and walked over to him. She was able to walk to the car, and drank 1/2 of her jug of water. Then she lay down and slept on the ride home.

She was able to get from car to house, and to the coolness of the basement. She crawled under the coffee table and just lay there. With little prompting, she drank 2 more bowls of water, then settled to sleep. I, however, was retarded. I would not leave the basement, and if I had to pee, I made Dale sit and watch her. Her breathing slowed, and she was snoring....she seemed pretty comfy.

After about 2 1/2 hours she got up like nothing had happened. She wiggled and waggled, wanting to go outside. She ate a bowl of food and looked at me like "That's all?".

All in all, she is fine. To see her you would not know that she has been unwell. And just in case, I slept on the couch with her last night anyway...

A life lesson

When you are running your lawn mower, turn it OFF before sticking you hand underneath it. Enough said...

A full moon during the day?

Today was a frustrating work day. Everyone seemed to be short tempered, demanding, and generally unreasonable.

As a rule, I try to be as pleasant as possible to my patients. Who can stay mad when your nurse is pleasant, accommodating, and delightful to be around? Well, apparently that was not me today.

Pt A was a young woman with renal colic. And 8 weeks post-partum to boot. I totally get the fact that she was in pain, and went to great lengths to discuss this with her, sympathize and anesthetize against her discomfort. The unfortunate part of the experience was her half-wit boyfriend. He was rude, insulting, demanding, and unwilling to accept the fact that I am one person, dealing with 18 other injured individuals. At the end of our ugly interaction I had my finger in his face, telling him to get out of MY face, or I would have him removed from the department. Not a good start to the day. And all because I requested analgesic for his girlfriend and it didn't arrive as quickly as he would have liked. Buddy, roll a blunt and be done with it!

Pt B was an adult? woman who has had knee pain for 6 months. Oh My God! She had to wait 2 hours from the time of arrival until I put her in a room. When made aware that her xrays had arrived and the Dr would be seeing her, she commented that it would probably take until the end of the year! At this point I mentioned that on the brighter side of things, she had been able to walk into the department and voice her opinions, which was more then a number of our clients were able to do today. Then I put her in the chairs to free up her bed.

Pt C had an ulcer on her leg. After being seen by Plastics, she needed the wound swabbed, packed and dressed. Unfortunately, the room she was in did not allow for me to perform these procedures, so I told her she would have to wait until the appropriate room was vacated. Again with the attitude! In the general scheme of things does another 20 minutes really make that much of a difference?

And my favorite..the daughter of Pt D. The wife of a Cardiologist, she brought her mother in on his recommendation. After waiting 2 hours in the waiting room, this loving daughter had enough and was taking her mother home. How dare we keep her 89 yr old Mum in the waiting room for this length of time! When I pointed out that a 2 hr wait in the life of a 3 MONTH old ulcer was minimal and not unreasonable, she stormed out, Momma in tow.....I guess I should expect a call from the manager Monday.

Strange things are going on...

Lately I have been smelling flowers. Not in the literal sense, but in the "where did that smell come from" sense.

I have long thought that my house is haunted..both Dale and I have seen an older gentleman in a bowler hat around the house. He is usually seen out of the corner of you eye, peeking into the room we occupy. When you turn your head fully, he is gone.

Occasionally my drapes will move, as if someone has run their hands along them. But no one is there. And then there is the knocking. Someone knocks on my bedroom door. I call out to come in but no one answers. So when I get up and open the door, there is no one there, and no one even on that level of the house. 2 nights ago, the knocking was so loud it woke me from sleep. I looked out my window, thinking it might be Kelsey knocking as she was locked out of the house, but nope...no one there.

So anyway, for the last few days I have been smelling these flowers. I haven't yet identified the type, but the first time I smelled them was in the basement. No air fresheners had been used, no candles were burning, but there it was...a strong smell of flowers as soon as I walked in the room. It slowly faded, and I thought nothing of it. Again it occurred, this time in the bathroom I think. But no hair products had been used to account for the scent.

Yesterday, I was walking Shelby at the dog park. And there it was again, this smell of flowers. This was a little easier to explain, I figured, except for the fact that we were in a field that was flowerless. And I noticed the smell on my fingers as well, as if I had crushed some petals between my fingers.

On finishing our walk, we returned to the van, only to find the scent of flowers in my van as well.

I can't help thinking someone is trying to tell me something, and I have yet to figure it out. And at least it is a pleasant smell, almost comforting. Not cloying, just nice.

I guess I should says thanks at the thought that someone out there is thinking of me.

The Wedding

I love weddings. I love the build up to the big day, the pre-wedding jitters of the couple in question, and anticipation and the formalization of the union. It is all great fun.

This past weekend, I had the privilege of participating in Mike and Randy's big day. From helping with the invitations, to the decorating, to meeting his family, it was truly a wonderful experience.

And it was also full of the usual wedding day glitches. Let me explain (and I do so with the utmost love and respect for Mike and Randy):

1) As one of the photographers of the event, I arrived Friday anticipating taking family photos as the entire clan had not been together for a number of years. While waiting for all the family to arrive, I had the honor of peeling 50 pound of potatoes for the salad. Unfortunately, Randy's Mom and Mike's Father and step-Mom did not arrive until late in the evening, so the pictures had to wait. We did however, have the good fortune of being served one of Mikes fantastic meals, and to partake in a beautiful bottle of 30 year old Port. YUM!

2)The highly anticipated wedding day! We arrived to take more formal pictures of the family, but the boys were not yet ready. And the family members were scampering about trying to finish decorating. While no formal pictures got taken that day, we did get the decorations up. But then we had a minor disaster as Randy's pants were not hemmed up by the tailor, so we ended up taping them up and praying they would hold. And on the ride to the meeting house, Mike was anxious (oh yes you were!) as Randy kept pretending not to know his vows. So they were written on a cheat sheet in the event he forgot. And when as we made our pit stops to put up balloons for people to use as markers, we noted some nasty children playing near our chosen site. Needless to say, the balloons appeared to have been popped when we drove past them on our way back to the farm. Bastards! They will burn in hell.

3) The ceremony. It was a beautiful, simple, exchange of vows. It truly expressed the deep love and affection Mike and Randy have for each other, and the commitment to each other that we know they both have. But then there was the ring incident. As Mike placed the wedding band on Randy's finger, it got stuck. It would not move. Randy joked that he and gotten fat overnight, but the bottom line was that the ring wasn't moving. Luckily, Mike's step-Mom Peggy had some liquid hand sanitizer in her purse, and with a quick dab the ring slid on.

4) The rain. Oh there was rain! After we left the meeting house it started to sprinkle...then pour. But as Randy said, it forced everyone to socialize under the porch, instead of separating into their own groups. I learned that they have a very diverse group of friends who love them as much as I do.

5) The meal and reception. Simply put...amazing. The meal was catered by their neighbor and the food was fantastic. And while the mosquito's got a little thick towards the end, it was a relaxed and joyous affair. All the things a wedding should be.

6) Day 1 of married life. I arrived Sunday morning to finally get the pictures of the whole family together. The sun was shining and it was lovely and warm. As I pulled up the driveway, I waved to Randy who yelled "You missed it! It was yesterday!" I know why Mike loves him.

When Mike was trying to explain to me the Quaker belief system, I must admit I had some trouble with the concept. I got it in my head that during the moments of silence that occur, each member was looking for enlightenment in some form. In looking up the word in my old dictionary, I found the word Enlightened to be defined as such: well informed, tolerant, unprejudiced.

How truly descriptive of this couple! Well informed describing their knowledge in their professional lives, their chosen life as farmers, and of course, regarding the needs of each other. Tolerant..who has learned more about tolerance than a person who has been discriminated against? Unprejudiced....who is more unprejudiced then a person who has had to rise above the thoughts and beliefs of others in order to live their life according to who they are instead of who they are expected to be?

To Mike and Randy...I wish you continued success in your lives. You are an inspiration.

The update

For those who are interested, my fathers fever seems to have corrected itself with a bit of extra fluid. Who'd have thought? He was assessed by the dietitian who noted that he was a wee bit dry, and that perhaps additional fluids through his feeding tube were required, given the inconsistency with which he takes food and fluid orally.

Christin 1-Nursing Home 0.

And his bed was finally fixed as well...except that now the foot of the bed will not go down so he is all crunched up in his bed when the head is raised.

Christin 2- Nursing Home 0

Oh, and there seems to be an outbreak of diarrhea on the unit, and guess what? My Dad has it too. Within 24 hours his bum and nether regions look like the flame on a blow torch. Needless to say, I took in a really nice thick barrier cream to protect what is left of his skin.

Christin 3- Nursing Home 0

Need I go on?

UGH!

I am frustrated! My Dad recently moved to a nursing home, and my sister and I thought that this was it...finally he would settle in somewhere, home at last, the final frontier.

But, alas, I was wrong. What would have made me think this move would be any easier than anything else in my life??

First of all, they were not feeding him. Now I know the idea of a resident having a feeding tube might suggest they do not need to receive food orally, but this is not the case with my Dad. He was receiving 3 meals a day in addition to his nightly tube feedings prior to his move to the nursing home. So when I straightened out this misconception, they were kind enough to feed him ONCE per day, at lunch. Guys! Your killing me here! Then they decide that he is choking on his food, so they stop feeding him again in order to get a swallowing assessment done.

So I ask them, how is he getting fluids in the interim? Through his feeding tube, they reply. And anyway, it's a total meal replacement system, so he doesn't need anything else, right? Wrong again, I tell them...lets do the math. If his tube is flushed every 3 hours with 20 cc's of water his intake of fluid is 160 mls per day. Does this seem a little on the low side? Cause it does to me. So, they tell me "we'll look into it". I think, personally, this is code for "Get off my back", but I'm not certain yet. Later clarified, I am informed that he actually receives 440 cc's of water through his tube in a 24 hour period. I think this was supposed to make me feel better.

So this morning I go to see my Dad. He's up in his chair in the TV room. His cheeks are flushed, and you can feel the warmth radiating off of him. I cart him back to his room, and ask the PSR to check his temp. Well, apparently she is not allowed to do this, so I ask her to get me the thermometer and I will check it myself. Apparently that is a no no, because she had a horrified look on her face and said she couldn't do that either. So I ask her to get the nurse, but it would appear she is on her break, returning in a 1/2 hour or so. No, I tell the PSR, she is coming back now to check his temperature. A staring contest followed, but in the end I was victorious.

Guess what? He had a fever. ..39.5. Not enough to kill him, but certainly enough to treat, given he is normally a healthy guy. I debate the causes with the RPN..urinary tract infection, chest infection, DEHYDRATION??? Gee, look, his mouth is dry, and his tongue is cracked and coated!

So off the RPN scampers to get a Tylenol suppository, and in it goes. Well, she says, I guess that's it. Wrong again! What is with these people? I ask if perhaps we should try to determine the cause of the fever, before it gets out of hand, and she promptly offers to have the on call physician come in to see him...on his rounds...on Tuesday...

Bottom line, with gritted teeth and a spectacular amount of restraint on my part, I convince the next nurse to check his vitals, and low and behold his blood pressure is 84/62...a tad low for him. We collect a urine sample to be sent off, and the on call Dr, who has now been notified starts him on Cipro. And they start to give him extra fluid through his feeding tube as he is just a little too lethargic to be fed.

This evening, his blood pressure has improved, but his temperature is climbing again. I am assured that he will have his vitals checked every 4 hours through the night, but I am certain I will be setting my alarm for the wee hours to ensure he is OK.

It's an ongoing saga, my life, and it is getting a little tiresome....

A funny thing happened...

I was updating myself on Jenn's Blog, when one particular entry brought fond memories back to me. The story goes like this:

My daughter had injured herself during a ball game and was complaining of pain to her hand. I took her in to work to have it looked at and x-rayed, and came across two of my night-shift co-workers. While chatting with them in Obs, there was a pt located in the room directly across from the nursing station. He was vomiting. Loudly. Ridiculous loud, as a matter of fact. So the three of us simultaneously look up at his room (with disdain, I might add) and go "Blaaaaaaaah", mimicking the noise he is making. We then returned to our conversation.

On the way home my daughter says to me "I can't believe you guys made fun of that poor man". "Oh please", I said. "Listen to that for 8 hours and see how you feel".

Apparently I am lacking in compassion...

Oy..

I have been very negligent with my blog. It's not that I lack content, it's more a matter of time management.

So, for the past few months I have been on a modified return to work. That means I get to go to work and re-experience all those situations I know and love. For instance, on one of my first few shifts back I had the joy of dealing with the man who took an ambulance in to the hospital because he had the flu. He had chills, muscle aches, and just felt terrible. And guess what? His wife and 2 yr old son had the same thing over the weekend! Now, you ask, did they come to hospital? Oh no, just the husband. Wimp! His man card has since been revoked.

And there is the woman who had vaginal bleeding and abdominal cramping. When was her last period, you ask? 1 month prior to this episode of bleeding. Now, you might think, as I did, that perhaps this might be her period again, particularly since she insisted she was regular. Nope, she was convinced that this was not her period, although it felt like it, looked like it, and the timing was bang on. Guess what? It was in fact her period, and another chunk of the health care budget was wasted.

But today I had the privilege of meeting a true to life loser. While playing baseball today, one of my teammates pulled his hamstring. Far from the picture of health, he rolled around on the ground, moaning and carrying on. When assisted to the bench, he determined that he had pulled the muscle, and would be unable to finish the game. Fair enough, you think. This type of injury can be quite painful. So, I offed him a tensor bandage and some ice, as well as some Tylenol.
"Ohhh, he moaned, I can't bend to put it on". So, with gritted teeth I offered to apply it. I asked him to pull up the leg of his shorts, and the conversation went like this: "I caaaan't." "Yes, you can." "I caaaan't" "Yes, you can" "I caaaan't" "Yes, you can" "Oh look. You did it". Ugh! Whiny-ass baby!

Then he insists he must go to the hospital immediately. "No you don't", I said. "Yes I do" "No, you don't" "Yes, I do" "No, you don't" "Yes, I do. I have a Factor V deficiency and have to go right away" "No you don't. Keep an eye on it and if the area starts to swell or get warm and red, then get it checked. But right now, you are fine". His response? "Oh ya, my doctor says that too" Hmmmmm.

So I offer him the Tylenol and he says he'll take 8 tablets. 8! I told him under no circumstance would I give him 8 tablets. He insists he always takes 8 tablets. So I tell him again, that under no circumstance will I give him 8. "Did you know" I tell him, " that Tylenol is hepatotoxic? And that your liver produces clotting factors?" Surprise!! He did not know this little gem of info. Ugh!

But then came the kicker. "I think", he says, "I should file a Workers Comp claim"."Why" I ask, "would you have to do that?". "Well"....this is a TTC tournament, and I've injured myself"." "Buddy" I tell him, "This may be sponsored by them, but you aren't at work so there is no claim to be made."

Oy! They are everywhere, these inadequate people, and they are breeding! I fear for my life....

Oh, I just had to....

This is an actual letter from an Austin woman sent to American company Proctor and Gamble regarding their feminine products. She really gets rolling after the first paragraph.
It's PC Magazine's 2007 editors' choice for best webmail-award-winning letter.

Dear Mr.. Thatcher,

I have been a loyal user of your 'Always' maxi pads for over 20 years and I appreciate many of their features. Why, without the LeakGuard Core or Dri-Weave absorbency, I'd probably never go horseback riding or salsa dancing, and I'd certainly steer clear of running up and down the beach in tight, white shorts.
But my favorite feature has to be your revolutionary Flexi-Wings. Kudos on being the only company smart enough to realize how crucial it is that maxi pads be aerodynamic. I can't tell you how safe and secure I feel each month knowing there's a little F-16 in my pants.
Have you ever had a menstrual period, Mr. Thatcher? I'm guessing you haven't. Well, my time of the month is starting right now. As I type, I can already feel hormonal forces violently surging through my body. Just a few minutes from now, my body will adjust and I'll be transformed into what my husband likes to call 'an inbred hillbilly with knife skills.' Isn't the human body amazing?
As Brand Manager in the Feminine-Hygiene Division, you've no doubt seen quite a bit of research on what exactly happens during your customer's monthly visits from 'Aunt Flo'. Therefore, you must know about the bloating, puffiness, and cramping we endure, and about our intense mood swings, crying jags, and out-of-control behavior. You surely realize it's a tough time for most women.
The point is, sir, you of all people must realize that America is just crawling with homicidal maniacs in Capri pants... Which brings me to the reason for my letter..
Last month, while in the throes of cramping so painful I wanted to reach inside my body and yank out my uterus, I opened an Always maxi-pad, and there, printed on the adhesive backing, were these words: 'Have a Happy Period..'
Are you f------ kidding me? What I mean is, does any part of your tiny middle-manager brain really think happiness - actual smiling, laughing happiness, is possible during a menstrual period? Did anything mentioned above sound the least bit pleasurable? Well, did it, James?
FYI, unless you're some kind of sick S&M freak, there will never be anything 'happy' about a day in which you have to jack yourself up on Motrin and Kahlua and lock yourself in your house just so you don't march down to the local Walgreen's armed with a hunting rifle and a sketchy plan to end your life in a blaze of glory.
For the love of God, pull your head out, man! If you have to slap a moronic message on a maxi pad, wouldn't it make more sense to say something that's actually pertinent, like 'Put down the Hammer' or 'Vehicular Manslaughter is Wrong'.
Sir, please inform your Accounting Department that, effective immediately, there will be an $8 drop in monthly profits, for I have chosen to take my maxi-pad business elsewhere. And though I will certainly miss your Flex-Wings, I will not for one minute miss your brand of condescending bullsh*it. And that's a promise I will keep. Always. ....
Best, Wendi Aarons, Austin , TX

Out of the mouths of babes

I was driving my daughter Kelsey to baseball Wednesday night. She was telling me about a friend of hers, who had a bit of a dilemma.

It would appear that in this particular circle of friends, there is a running joke about this girl, because every other month or so she believes she is pregnant.

Stupidly, I asked whether or not the girl was using contraception, and I was informed that she takes the pill sporadically, and that the boyfriend refuses to use condoms.

"Let me guess" I said, "he doesn't like the way they feel?". Kelsey nodded her head knowingly and confirmed my suspicion. And then she said "I don't like the feeling of them either, but it's gotta feel better then pushing a kid out your vagina".

I feel a migraine coming on......

The good, the bad, the ugly.

On Saturday Dale and I went up to the cottage. The plan was to spend the day tidying it up, as we have it on the market for sale.

After a somewhat leisurely drive up, and a stop for home made butter tarts, we arrived at the lake. It was a beautiful day, and while I started tidying up inside, reorganizing, etc, Dale set to work on the outside.

It was during this time that our neighbor, Brian, wandered over. Now Brian is not your average neighbor. The first time we met him was at dusk. We heard this crashing sound in the bush. New to cottaging we were wondering "Is it a bear? A deer?"...oh no, it was Brian. Through the bush he staggered, wearing a white wife beater, a Speedo, and holding a glass of red wine. He was tanked!

This has not changed over time. Brian assures us he only drinks at the cottage (he lives up there from April to November) and the rest of the time is spent involved in various ventures...selling diamonds, running a commune, swimming against world-class athletes. He's a bit of a character.

Brian is also deaf as a post. Apparently he was a music teacher, who is currently on disability due to his hearing loss. He also lost his sense of smell due to a head injury of some sort, has broken most of his bones in various mishaps, and he loves to squirrel away anything and everything that might be of use this lifetime.

He also has a penchant for wearing as little as possible, and what he does wear is bizarre to say the least. I can't count the number of times he has come over in his leopard print thong, or in his underwear. He just doesn't care, so long as he is comfortable. There was one time he left his dog at our place. Buddy is afraid of the dark, and so you have to walk him home. Dale and Lesley had the honor this particular night, but when they got to Brian's, the music was blaring. They knocked and knocked on the door, but to no avail. So they opened it up. and there, on the floor was Brian's thong. They shoved Buddy in the door and hurried away before becoming completely traumatized. It's always an adventure.

So as I was saying, Brian wandered over. Today in his little shorts, wife beater, and with his glass of wine, he told us he was sad to see us go and wondered if we would like to come over for dinner. He told me he understood that I was not comfortable at his place as he is usually naked, but would we join him for dinner and to watch the hockey game. Well, how much harm could there be in that? Right?

Brian's cottage is a mishmash of buildings stuck together. He does not believe in building permits, and has built his place from old lab equipment from his old school, things he found in his ex-wife's basement, boards he took when someone was replacing their dock. But he does have a great big plasma TV.

So we decide on spaghetti, and he gets the ground beef out. Then he brings out a big box of wine, Maria Christina, and sets to work. So we sip and chat, and I notice that the beef is in need of some care and take over. Brian was grateful as he can't smell things burning. I chop up peppers, onions, garlic and add them to the meat. Start the noodles. Hmmm...how did i get conned into this?

We decide to have bruscetta with our spaghetti, but all we can find is Everything bagels . So he grills them, melts mozzarella on them, puts slices of tomato on top. And while we nibble, I ask for the sauce for the spaghetti.

"Oh, its on the counter' says Brian. But all I can find is BBQ sauce. So I ask again, and he points to the BBQ sauce. Apparently in cottage country, anything will do, so I glob BBQ sauce onto the meat. My spaghetti sauce now looks like Sloppy Joe mix. Oh well.

So we continue sipping our wine, which I figure will make the "spaghetti" taste that much better, and I hear Dale ask Brian where he can go to have a smoke. "Smoke?" Brian yells (because the music is really really loud). "In the next room". Well it appears that Brian has mistaken our idea of smoke, because he directs us to a bedroom where he has "bags of pot" that people keep leaving there. Jeez! After clarifying what we meant we are invited to smoke anywhere because he cant smell it anyway.

After dinner, which was surprisingly good in my modestly drunken state, we settle down to watch the hockey game. But not before a bottle of Tequila Rose comes out and shots are passed around.

At 9pm I was dying and begged off to go to bed. Brian's was weaving like a bobble head doll, and Dale was intent on watching the game. At 1030 Dale appeared and said he left Brian asleep on the couch.

I think that despite all his little quirks, I will miss Brian when we sell.

The whiner

There is no real point to this blog, other then for me to have a forum in which to whine.

I am tired. I am busy with appointments with my children. I have no quality time with my husband. At least I think I still have a husband...

I can't seem to get my house properly cleaned. I haven't been as attentive to my dog as I would like. I haven't spoken to my sisters in weeks.

I need to visit my Aunt. I need to tend to my mothers grave. I need to cut my fathers hair. I need to call my father in law and see how he is.

I need to go grocery shopping. I need to fold the laundry. I need to clean out my garage. I need to finish painting my daughters bedroom.

I need to find out what is in those mystery boxes under the stairs. I need to clean out the spare room again. I need to cut the grass. I need to plant some flowers.

I need to tend to my photo projects. I need a shower. I need to wash my floors. I need to organize my closets again.

I need a wife.

The magnet

If you have read my previous blog about the Oshawa Court clientele, you will fully appreciate the following story....

I performed an normal task today. I went grocery shopping. Nothing exciting, just a quick trip into Price Chopper for some dinner fixins. Upon completion I boxed up my goods, and carried them to the car.

Sounds normal, right? That's what I thought, too. So while I held the box in place against my car, and dug around in my purse for my car keys, I heard it: "Nice piece of ass".

I do not have a nice piece of ass. But despite this I was compelled to see what kind of moron would make a comment like that when I knew I was the only one around. I looked up from my purse, and there he was in all his glory.

The sun was shining off his dirty blond mullet. No, really, it was blond AND dirty. The mullet formed little ringlets down his back, which was encased in a blue/grey flannel shirt. Poor soul! He couldn't afford to buy the one with the buttons because his ample belly was hanging over what I assumed was a waistband on his strategically torn jeans. His mancans were bouncing along in rhythm with his strut. It was not a pretty site.

I can only guess that he mistook my look of horror for a come-hither look. So he flashed me his winning smile. Yes, surprisingly enough there were teeth. The looked as if they belonged to a 100 yr old corpse, but they were all his.

I jumped in my car, and unfortunately missed him as I backed up quickly.

So I head toward the exit of the parking lot. And then it happens again. This time, however, it was deceiving. You have to be very astute to live in Oshawa....because things are not always what they seem.

A 30ish fellow was walking in front of my car. He was nicely groomed, with short hair, clean jeans, and a lime green shirt with white orchids on it.

I slowed down so as not to scare him, when he noticed my car. He moved to the left, I moved to the right. But then he moved to the right, and I had to stop again. He moved out of my way again, then stepped in front of my car at the last minute. What was wrong with this guy?

Then he starts smiling and waving. I look closely thinking that perhaps I know him, but I don't recognize him. Nope, he's a stranger.

So I give him the "Get the hell out of my way" look, and he moves, just to step in front of me and wave again. And that was when I saw it.

His eyes. They were a beautiful blue, and had a certain glow to them. You know the one....the one that a psychotic sexual predator has just before he kills his victim, the one that Osama Bin Laden had, the one..well, you get the picture.

I weaved around him, only to have him catch up and step out onto the street as I was pulling out of the parking lot. Freak! Luckily he jumped before I hit him, and I booked it home.

Apparently I am a freak magnet today, and intend on staying in the house the rest of the day.

The 3 hour tour

I have decided that I am Gilligan. Although I am the wrong sex, we do dress similarly, and we both have the habit of doing stupid things. In my books, that is a close enough match.

I wanted to go for a walk on the weekend. It was a beautiful sunny day on Sunday, and I thought I would go to the sanctuary in Oshawa and take some pictures of birds, flowers, etc. Dale offered to come with me, so it was the best case scenario.

So off we went, coffees in hand. We followed the marked paths for a bit, but that was dull. Where's the adventure if you know whats coming? And so we strayed.

There were birds everywhere, plants and flowers in bloom, so I was happy as a pig in you-know-what. And Dale was a great help in pointing out things of interest that he thought I might like.

In the distance we could see the lake, and thought it would be great to head up that way and wander the beach. The noise of the water was remarkable due to the wind, and the waves were beautiful as they crashed up against the shoreline. I was in heaven.

Interestingly enough, we found a number of items on the shoreline that we couldn't account for, but which made for interesting discussion:

Multiple shotgun shells: no blood, just the shell casings.
Cloth monkey: like the one in Jenn's spaghetti sauce.
A pre-radial tire.: they don't float, and the thing was ancient. I now understand the concern to the environment.
A tampon case: Ewwww.
Single shoes: explain that to your parents, kids.
Underwear: Ewwww.

But enough of that. You get the gist of it. So anyway, along the beach we went, through swarms of bugs. They were in our hair, up our noses, in our teeth. It was gross.

And then I saw it in the distance...an old looking building. Well, that just begs exploration doesn't it? So we headed further down the beach. We came across some kids swimming!, some kids huddled around a picnic table-wonder why-, and saw the building in the near distance. It was an old log cabin, set up in Darlington Provincial Park.

Yes, Darlington Provincial Park. Somehow we had made our way from Oshawa to Courtice, and now we had to make our way back.

We decided to skirt the marsh as we knew it would eventually lead us back to our starting point, but we were getting tired. On we marched, and I must say, Dale was a really good sport about it all. I love walking, and will spend hours wandering about, but he is not all that big on it. So when we finally made our way around the marsh and found the car, I asked the dreaded question: how long have we been out here?

The answer? 3 1/2 hours...the same amount of time it took Gilligan to strand a boatload of tourists.

Needless to say we had a nice long nap after we got home.

Court House Pointers

I live in Oshawa. I know, I know, you can stop snickering any time now. But for all its negative points, there are a few positives as well.

For instance, it has a great beach. It has a huge number of Tim Horton's coffee shops. It has a great shopping centre, and no shortage of liquor stores. It has a fabulous dog park. The people are down to earth, and for the most part, very hard working. All important things when going about your daily life.

It also houses a number of court houses, a new one of which is currently being built in the downtown area.

I have had the misfortune of spending a fair bit of time over the years in the above-mentioned courthouses. Due to various misadventures, my eldest daughter keeps getting herself involved in situations which require spending time in the presence of the law.

I know I sound like a snob, but I am never disappointed when we go to court. Apparently we missed getting our handout during our first visits because we have failed to follow the prerequisites of court. These include the following:

1) Do not wear your teeth, or at least display as few as possible.
2) Ensure that you flick your tongue through the missing tooth holes frequently.
3) Wear as little as possible.
4) If you must wear clothing, please make sure you include fringes and 4 inch heels or cowboy boots. The fringes can also be part of the shoes/boots.
5) Jeans, preferably ripped, mini skirts with ultra-low scoop necked blouses, feathered earrings, lip rings, nose rings, belly button rings (must be displayed as proof of ownership).
5) Make up, and lots of it. The more the merrier, as Canada's Next Top Model might drop by, or at least a visiting circus. And maybe one of the patrons of the system will take a shine to you.
6) Hair...big, big hair. Hair that won't move in any weather condition, hair that won't droop in a monsoon, hair that is so teased and brittle it looks like it belongs on a Barbie doll.
7) Tattoo's. A must in any Oshawa courtroom. Preferable displayed on bare scalp, neck, knuckles, biceps, triceps, forearms, chest, and ankles. Got skin? Give it a tat.
8) Aforementioned tattoos must indicate the following: the names of your 16 children, the name of your top 10 boyfriends/girlfriends, homage to 'Mom", spiderwebs, black widow spiders, roses, devils, angels, garden gnomes.
9) A hearty display of your superior language skills. Nothing says "I'm innocent" like a plea peppered with the F word.
10) Don't show up. Nothing validates your man-card like having a bench warrant issued.

My case in point is this...today my daughter was at the courthouse. She was appropriately dressed, her hair nicely styled, and her makeup subdued. She was approached by a bald, scrawny, bucktoothed fellow who wanted her telephone number. But why, you ask, would such a fine specimen of manliness be in the courthouse? Uttering death threats to his previous girlfriend. My daughter accidentally gave him a number that was no longer in service...

A day in the life...

Since my surgery, I have become a lady of leisure. With little to define my days with, I have had the time to come to the following conclusions:

I did not inherit the clean gene. On any given day, I can gather enough dog fur to create a zoo. How does my dog lose so much hair without having bald patches? How do my children leave so much hair in the shower as to keep full heads of hair? Who keeps dropping bits and pieces on the floors? My kitchen floor is now lovingly referred to as "the Smorg".

I hate cooking. As such, it has become my goal to starve my family into wishing me back to work. They ate far better when I had a set routine.

I will never have long fingernails. I love digging in the dirt without gloves. I love the feel of the earth between my fingers...Ok, the occasional squished worm is less then pleasant, but overall, it is something I love doing.

Sorry Nicole, but I will never have soft feet. I love being barefoot. I have blisters on my feet from wearing my shoes without socks. I love the feeling of warm pavement underneath me. My poor heels can soon be marketed as the scrubby-thing people buy to scrub their heels with.

My husband is a gem. Despite the fact that I have all the time in the world, he is still the one who does the laundry, helps with the dishes, and the one who carts me around when I feel like going out to take some pictures. Well, I can't drive and look for things to photograph, can I?

I love my PVR.

I love my camera.

I love Craig's List. It's like a whole new world! I have been putting my junk on it, and low and behold, people are calling to come and get it! It's a miracle!

Now, all of that being said, I should be off to bed. Soon the sun will be up, and I will have to figure out another way to spend a totally self indulgent day. Maybe I could get used to this after all....

Oh, and by the way, here is how I spent today:

The day of the dead

I've had a great few days. I spent a day at Mt. Pleasant Cemetery with my daughter and husband, wandering through the amazing memories created on the behalf of the dead. It is nice to see how loved people are, even in death, and the lengths people will go to to keep their memories alive.

Our goal on this visit was to find the resting place of William Lyon McKenzie King. But in our travels we found the Eaton, Massey, and Gooderham Mausoleums, to name a few. These were large, elaborate crypts, generous in their stone work and creative in their architecture.

There were also the smaller, more poignant headstones, outlining a life well lived, or not lived long enough.

The great thing about Mt. Pleasant is how peaceful and well kept it is. The dead are respected and cherished. With the sun out, and the wind rustling through the trees, you can feel the presence of the past all around you. I love to touch the stones, imagine the life lived long ago.

Afterwards, we went to the Toronto Necropolis. It, too, is a wonderful old cemetery. The "residents" have been housed there since the 1850's when bodies were moved from Potters Field at Yonge and Bloor to their present site.

The Necropolis houses some famous people from our Canadian past, and it was like being on a scavenger hunt, trying to locate the various celebrities. We found Ned Hanlan, George Brown, William Lyon McKenzie, to name a few.

But the best part, despite getting caught in a rain storm, was the time spent with my family. We talk about trends that we see in the dates of death, what it must have been like to bury so many family members at one time, and we try to find connections between the families.

As for William Lyon McKenzie King, we never found him. On returning home and researching the names of those we found, we determined he was in fact at Mt. Pleasant Cemetery, where our search had begun.

So the nice part of all of this is that we are planning Mt. Pleasant II...a continuation of our previous visit, and more time spent together. Its amazing how nice a day can be when your teenager is interested in what you are doing, and wants to participate.

I think I have found the key to life....and it appears to be held by the dead.

The Wedding Dress

Last week I went shopping with the eldest, Yvonne, for wedding dresses. The plan was to meet downtown and hit a few of the stores to sample their wares. I took the GO train down, and amused myself by listening to my iPod and playing peekaboo with the little fellow in the seat in front of me. On arrival I dutifully met up with Yvonne outside of Cinnabun.

We decided that we would go to Yorkville. It was a beautiful day for walking around, we could hit the stores, grab a drink on an outdoor patio, and later meet up with our fellas for dinner. A perfectly planned day. While both Yvonne and I are directionally challenged, we were able to make our way via subway to the area we wanted. And with only a few false starts, were able to get directions to where we wanted to be.

Now understand, I was under strict orders to look nice. So my hair was freshly washed and dried, and there was a haze of hairspray lingering over my head. I had put on both lipstick and mascara. I wore jeans with no holes, a nicely patterned denim shirt, and a pair of heeled slip on shoes. I was prepared!

And then we started walking.

Well, within 5 minutes my feet were sore. Stupidly, I neglected to wear stockings on my feet and before long I was limping along the sidewalk like a gimp. I was in pain. The ever-helpful Yvonne started to ask people on the street where we could buy stockings, and we were directed to a store.

The sales woman was lovely, very helpful in trying to sell me $30.00 stockings, but we finally settled on a reasonable amount for a pair. And then I took off my shoes.

The poor sales woman! She looked at my feet and said "oh my!" I had no skin on the outer aspects of my little toes. Blood was oozing down my feet. I was kindly offered bandages and peroxide, and bled through the first four bandages. With 4 new bandages on my toes we finally left the store.

But my feet would not cooperate. Every step was agony. I plodded along flat footed, my legs bowed like I had a bowling ball wedged between them, just to avoid pressing my shoes against my toes. This just wasn't working. So now we were in search of sandals. When we finally found some sandals, my old shoes were bagged and finally the hunt for a dress began.

Now I must admit, we only got to try on one dress. But what a vision she was in it. A mermaid style with a lacy train, Yvonne suddenly looked grown up, and more beautiful then ever. No matter what she settles on, she will undoubtedly be a beautiful bride.

But somehow we kept circling the same park over and over, wandering aimlessly, and finally abandoned our search in preference of wine on an outdoor patio. And not a moment too soon.

Having bled through my bandages again, my feet were sticky with blood. And to make it worse, I had now rubbed raw the area between my big toe and the next little guy. I had developed water blisters that had burst and were draining serous fluid down my feet. I began to take on the appearance of something from The Night of the Living Dead.

After meeting up with our guys, we had dinner and finally headed home. My feet were throbbing, itchy, and swollen. I soaked my poor feet when I got home, but continue to leave trails of sticky serous goo on my floors. My toes are still bleeding.

But was it worth it? Absolutely. Because I got a glimpse of the future...Yvonne encased in a flowing white gown, the look of anticipation on her face as she tried the dress on, the excited chatter about her vision of her wedding.

And I learned a valuable lesson. The question is, how can I make my Crocks match a cocktail length dress when the time comes?

P is for...

Good Friday was just that..a good and glorious, sunny day. As such, it only made sense that I would take my dog, Shelby, to the dog park for a play date with any and every dog available. We had a great time. She ran, she sniffed, she swam. All in all, a relatively successful day at the park.


The other reason I love going to the dog park is to take pictures. I love photography, and enjoy snapping photos of anything that strikes my fancy. I make a point of looking up and down, back and forth, so that I do not miss an opportunity.

So as we wandered around, Shelby galloped and I snapped pictures of anything that struck me as interesting. I was looking, in particular, for signs of spring. Fresh green buds sprouting from the warm earth, nests being built in anticipation of things to come, ice clinging to the banks of the stream.

Amid all the muck and debris left behind from winter, I found a cluster of small yellow flowers. They were struggling to get out from underneath the remains of winter, and the contrast of seasons was just what I had been searching for. So with that, I crouched down in the mud to snap some shots.

Of course Shelby was interested in what I was doing and was milling about trying to see what was holding my interest. Luckily another dog, a Spaniel, came around the corner, so off she went to introduce herself.

Now, you must understand that Shelby is a bit of a Mommas girl. She won't go too far, and always comes to find me if she can no longer see me. So shortly after the sniff-fest began, she came bounding back to me with the Spaniel in tow.

I noted the two of then out of the corner of my eye, but was rather focused on the yellow flowers. And then it happened.

As I was snapping away with the camera, I vaguely noticed that something had changed. Things seemed to have gotten strangely quiet, and then I heard the gasp. As I turned my head to see what was going on, I saw, and felt, what had made the Spaniels owner pause.

Beside me was the Spaniel. Leg lifted high in the air, he was peeing on me! I'd like to think that I was so still, so intent on my cause, that he mistook me for a rock. But at the end of the day, I was natures outhouse, and he was using it.

So, with my track pants wet from hip to knee, I stood up and looked at this dog. His tail was wagging, his tongue was lolling, and all in all he was quite pleased with himself. Shelby, being of no help at all, just stood there watching. Her tail, too, was wagging, and I think there was a little smile on her doggy face.

The Spaniels owner was caught between horror and humor. She offered me a rather pathetic apology...it's hard to accept "I'm sooo sorry" when the person is laughing at you.

With that, I gathered the shredded remains of my dignity and headed for the exit. I was a tremendous hit with every dog we passed.

We left the park.

And they call this therapy...

Joy is a Dominatrix and I am a Submissive. I had this moment of clarity shortly after I started physiotherapy.

Don't get me wrong, Joy is a wonderful woman. She is smart, perky and friendly. We clicked upon meeting. However, it also became clear that she called the shots, and I poured them.

During the initial physio assessment, there was a strange and unsettling focus on my breasts. "Pick those girls up" barked Joy, "Point them up". This action would apparently pull my shoulders back, and aid in moving my left shoulder blade back the 1 inch it appears to have migrated. It also made me very uncomfortable.

You see, it has been 3 weeks since I have worn a bra. Not overly well endowed, I do, however, have what I like to think of as a somewhat perky rack. But I have also noted the slow and steady slide of "the girls" towards the floor. I am in my mid-forties and gravity is pulling on me hard. Gravity is winning, and I am but a slave to the universe.

So on command, I pulled my shoulders back and the girls swung upward. They apparently had not seen this much daylight in a very long time, because before I knew it, they were inching their way back to familiar territory...my navel.

The girls, it seems, like dark places. They like the nether regions. They love being able to caress my belly button and glory in their ability to clean lint from my navel. They revel in their ability to massage and perform pedicures on my feet. They are soul mates with my soles. But one look from Dominatrix Joy had them scurrying for chest again.

So at home, I practiced, practiced, practiced. I was afraid to fail, because Joy had threatened to tape a rolled up towel between my shoulder blades if I failed. What's a girl to do?

Unfortunately, Joy was away last week and I encountered the unsuspecting Jeff. As he perused my chart and asked how I was progressing, I proudly thrust my bust to the sky. "Look at the girls" I said. "Look how far up they are and how long they can stay there".

Dead silence.

Apparently Jeff was more interested in how my shoulder was doing then how well behaved the girls had become under Joys strict tutelage. Hmmm...

So after clearing his throat numerous times, Jeff decided we should move along and perform some activities on my arm. So, dangle, dangle, dangle, swing, swing, swing, and we were done. Or so I thought.

But then Jeff decided I would benefit from some high tech Dr. Ho contraption that would aid in healing. Like the good Submissive I am, I was eager to please. So I struggled with my T-shirt, bending, twisting, tugging, but to no avail.

"Jeff" I asked, "can you help me take my shirt off?"

"Oh, oh" was the embarrassed, blushing reply. "I haven't been asked to do that in a very long time...my hands might shake" he replied. A very awkward silence followed.

I looked at him, he looked and me, I looked down at the floor, hoping to be swallowed up by some mutant cockroach that might pass by. And then it struck me! I had a tank top on underneath my T shirt!

I offered to hold the tank top while he removed the shirt, and then all was good. He applied the Dr. Ho with the utmost professionalism, and I settled down for my treatment.

As Jeff was leaving a thought struck me. "Jeff," I asked, "Should I point the girls up while I'm sitting here?"

The response was silence and the soft click of the door as it closed. So much for trying to please people.

Post-op Blues

After a year and a half of whining, I finally had my left shoulder repaired. An easy proceedure, I predicted, with a short, non-eventful recovery. This would be mine to enjoy...or so I hoped.

However, in the first few days I discovered that my left arm was far more important to my health and well being then I had imagined. For instance:

Hair washing: a thing of the past. With a useless left arm and instructions not to get wet, I had to resort to having my poor husband, Dale, wash my hair in the kitchen sink. An easy task, you would think, but in reality similar to bathing a dog in the tub. Bubbles and water everywhere, howling on my part as it wasn't being done to my exacting standards, and the worst part, the inability to dry my hair. After multiple attempts to teach my husband how to make a ponytail, we resolved the situation easily...I cut my hair.

This of course, led to problem number 2...

Hair drying: impossible sums it up. So, in an attempt to maintain my dignity, I engaged in an experiment involving mousse and gel. The result? Phil Spector.

Problem number 3? Its a little thing, but an important thing...

Shoe Laces: I resolved this problem by wearing my ever-ready pair of Crocks. However, then I was invited out by my friend Lisa. A little road trip to Trenton, a day out of the house. How exciting! Until I decided to put on proper shoes. I slipped on my runners, pre-tied, and went on my merry way. Until the shoes undid themselves. Hmm...how do I fix this? Swallowing my pride, I had to ask my friend to tie my shoes. A simple thing, but humiliating none the less. Lisa was gracious as always, but I'm certain I heard a snort in there somewhere.

Eating/drinking: I could not open tins, cans, bottles, bags. I could not put plates of food in the microwave, or take them out. I was useless! I learned not to open bottles while propping the bottle between my legs because I ended out wearing the contents. I learned not to cut open bags of veggies while holding the bag in my teeth as the scissors are damn sharp. I learned that chicken, beef and pork need to be cut up by someone else if you intend on eating as opposed to tearing it up with your teeth. I have now lost 10 pounds.

Sleeping: an easy situation to manage. Step one: secure the Velpo sling. Step two: take Percocet. Step three: insert snoring sound here