PNEUMONIA

Apr. 30th, 2015 06:52 pm
bloodyrosemccoy: (Not So Lucky)
SO ANYWAY THIS ONE TIME I GOT PNEUMONIA

Probably I'd Better Call A Doctor

OFFICE MANAGER: Thank you for calling this doctor's office! How can I help you?
ME: Well, I've got a bunch of pneumonia symptoms, and an image of Jim Henson just scrolled past my Facebook feed. I think I'd better see a doctor.
OFFICE MANAGER: Okay. The next appointments I have are either 7:30 tomorrow morning or two weeks from today.
ME: Probably I'd better take the seven-thirty one. I'm not sure I'll be alive two weeks from today.

Seven-Fucking-Thirty A.M. the Next Day

ME: Right, I got this. Drive down to the hospital, get an assessment, stop by the grocery store, back home for some rest.
MEDICAL ASSISTANT: Okay, I'm going to get your blood oxygen and your blood pressure ...
ME: Okay, that's great, but I just ... I think I need to lie down on the exam table ...
MEDICAL ASSISTANT: Wait, what?
ME: I'l just ... yeah. Down I go.
MEDICAL ASSISTANT: ... I guess you can stay there. Let me just take your temperature.
ME: *zzz*
MEDICAL ASSISTANT: in the hall HOLY SHIT IT'S 104.2°!
DOCTOR: also in the hall And you said she DROVE HERE HERSELF?

Gettin' A Chest X-Ray

INTAKE NURSE: Have you had any contact with anyone who might have had ebola recently?
ME: What, any of the four of them? NO.

One Chest X-Ray And Some Tylenol Later

DOCTOR: So it's totally pneumonia.
ME: You don't say.
DOCTOR: Go home. DO NOT DRIVE YOURSELF. Sleep. Push fluids. Take these antibiotics. Call if you get worse.
ME: I guess I'm not going to the grocery store today.

Sickness Behavior





one hour later

ASPEN: Hey, I am at your door! I've brought you some cassoulet!
ME: Is ... is this an entire chicken?
ASPEN: And here is some grapefruit juice!
ME: ... I really did not expect that to work as well as it did.

Everyone Is A Helper

CAT: Hey, I'm feeling better! But I think I want to hang close to you. Like, really close. Like, I will accept nothing except sitting on your belabored chest.
ME: This is a ploy so that if you die you can take your food human to the afterlife with you, isn't it.

ME: *cough*
BIRD: *cough*
ME: *cough cough*
BIRD: *cough cough*
ME: Are you making fun of me?
BIRD: *cough snort cough*

ME: Hello, Aunt! I think I am dying. Can you come up and heat up this cassoulet for me? And feed the cat her prescription food? And maybe do some laundry for me?
AUNT: You bet!
ME: So far, you are the best helper.
AUNT: I like to think it's the RN training.

And now I'm feeling better, which means I went to get the car and I am watching David Attenborough's Life of Birds. I"m still planning to talk about the awesome Space Place Gala, but till then, let's hope I survive.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Decemberween)
We cook our turkey on the grill. Everyone who hears this greets it with skepticism, right up until they try the turkey. Then they start considering using/getting their own grill. Plus, an outdoor grill allows us to enjoy the winter weather, which this year decided, much like my sister, to show up exactly on Christmas Day. (My sister works retail and had to be at the bookstore on Christmas Eve. What's the weather's excuse?)

So on Christmas Day when I came up the stairs, my brother was manning the grill, and my parents had gone to get my sister from the airport.

ME: Boy! What day is it?
MY BROTHER: Why, it's Christmas Day!
ME: Then I haven't missed it!
MY BROTHER: You almost did. It's like 2:30.
ME: Hey, you keep Christmas in your way and let me keep it in mine.

The turkey was pretty much done, just gently smoking now, so my brother deemed it was time to collect the drippings. Armed with a saucepan, oven mitts, and shoes for the snow, I stepped out to help him.

MY BROTHER: Ooh, that's a gorgeous pan full of drippings.
ME: Did you see how well I managed to pour it from this floppy pan into the saucepan?

But unbeknownst to me, a chunk of icy snow had stuck to my shoe.

The sad thing is, I even thought about slipping out of my shoes upon entering the house. But , ironically as it will turn out in a minute, I wanted to get the drippings to safety before getting distracted, and I did not.

So I stepped on the kitchen linoleum and was promptly mugged by physics. My right foot shot out in front of me, I came down hard on my left knee, and almost a pint of turkey juice sloshed spectacularly out to coat the kitchen like a greasy tsunami.

MY BROTHER: (from out on the deck) Well, that didn't sound good.
ME: I ... may have just ruined Christmas, dude.

So when the rest of the family came home, they found my brother working on Christmas dinner, very gingerly stepping around the kitchen as I tried to clean up the grease. Several Swiffer diapers, a million paper towels, quite a few rags, and a change of greasy pants later, we were back in business.

ME: I want to point out that I managed to keep the pan upright, so even though most of it sloshed out, we still have almost a cup left.
MY MOM: That will totally go far enough.
ME: IT IS A CHRISTMAS MIR--wait, isn't there another holiday that talks about oil lasting longer than--
MY SISTER: *cough*culturalappropriation*cough*
ME: IT IS A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE

So yes, we still got our gravy. And Christmas dinner was great, and then we went into the master bedroom (that will soon be MINE HAHAHAHAHAHA) and wrapped all our presents, and then we went downstairs and unwrapped them. And we watched Arthur Christmas, which is hilarious and fun and you should all check it out, and overall it was a pretty dang successful Christmas.

And then I woke up the next day and found out just which muscles I had pulled and how much I'd bruised my knee. But hey, if family Christmas comedies have taught us anything, it's that it's not Christmas without a hilarious bit of food-on-the-floor slapstick. And really, as far as disasters go, I'll take it over the Annual Christmas Plumbing Disaster any day.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Change)
So what's that? Mom left early for Thanksgiving in California, leaving Dad and me to follow her later? You know what that means! Time for Adventures With Dad!

Friday

DAD: Well, shall we watch a movie together? We've got some science fiction ones here. Like that Tom Cruise one. Or Transformers 4!
ME: Ooh, I haven't seen Guardians of the Galaxy!
DAD: Or we could watch Transformers!
ME: And I can't stand Tom Cruise, but yeah, Emily Blunt is pretty great. And I like the idea of being stuck in a video game.
DAD: Let's just watch the Transformers trailer.
ME: I rather want--
DAD: TRANSFORMERS
ME: FINE

Hour 427 of Transformers 4

DAD: I have no idea what is going on.
ME: God this movie is a mess but Optimus Christ just punched Grimlock into an alliance and is riding him like Yoshi so everything's cool I guess.

And then I was useless for weeks, because even terrible Transformers movies* leave me on a giant robot high that only subsides after a month or two.

Saturday

DAD: Tonight, you want to go to Interstellar?
ME: ARE THERE TRANSFORMERS IN IT
DAD: No, but your sister's been on a movie high from that one. We could go see it!
ME: For the record, it's three hours long and we can't pause for bathroom breaks in the theater.
DAD: OR we could stay in and watch this Live/Die/Repeat one.
ME: ARE THERE TRANSFORMERS IN THAT
DAD: Just make the popcorn.

It Was Like Being In A Video Game

DAD: Well, I'll admit that was a much better movie than our previous selection.
ME: Yeah, but it could have used more Optimus Prime.
DAD: You say that about everything.
ME: Look, you're the one who insisted we watch Transformers last night.

Then, We Struck Out For California )
bloodyrosemccoy: (Sweet Moves)
I've been working on a quilt while we watch the Olympics.

ME: *passing in front of the TV with the quilt to get to a place where I can lay it out* Scuse me, sorry. Just be a minute here.
DAD: Oh, that's all right. It's not like the Olympics only happens ONCE EVERY FOUR YEARS.
ME: Well, I manage to make a quilt about once every FIVE years. I got you beat.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Angry Spock)
MOM: Hey, wait a minute! That email I sent to your sister with all that insurance information has disappeared!
ME: ... *office work*
MOM: It's GONE! GONE I SAY!
ME: ... *trying to call in prescriptions*
MOM: OH GOD OH GOD I SPENT TWO HOURS ON THE PHONE LAST WEEK WORKING ON THIS AND IT'S GONE! I HAD IT ALL WRITTEN ON A PAPER AND IT WAS SHREDDED AND THE EMAIL NEVER GOT THERE AND IT'S GONE
ME: ... that's a bummer.
MOM: YES IT IS!
ME: *trying to read an article*
MOM: OH GOD I HATE MYSELF THIS IS AWFUL I AM AWFUL EVERYTHING IS AWFUL
ME: *sigh* *opens email*
MOM: NOW I HAVE TO START OVER AND--
ME: It's on the printer.
MOM: --IT'LL TAKE FOREV--what?
ME: I printed a copy just so you could have it. It's also in your sent messages folder.
MOM: It ... it is?
ME: Right there.
MOM: OH MY GOD THANK YOU!
ME: Yeah, no problem.
MOM: YOU HAVE SAVED ME!
ME: I actually just did it so you'd quit yelling.
MOM: Was I yelling?
ME: You were wailing and gnashing your teeth.
MOM: Oh. Sorry.
ME: Hey, I'd have, too, at the prospect of another two hours in the Phone Vortex.
MOM: True. I AM SO RELIEVED YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW CAN I THANK YOU
ME: You can stop yelling.
MOM: Oh, right.

And that's how I saved Mom from the Phone Vortex, at least for today. And how I got her to stop yelling at herself. It was a good day.

Newish

Feb. 5th, 2014 11:03 pm
bloodyrosemccoy: (Word)
DAD: (telling me about a Daily Show sketch) Yeah, they were reading the reports from that Chinese rover on the moon. And they had your Star Trek guy in there!
ME: ... MY Star Trek guy?
DAD: He's pretty funny.
ME: Leonard Nimoy? George Takei?
DAD: No, the NEW captain!
ME: Chris Pine?
DAD: No, uh--
MOM: (helpfully) Picard!
ME: Oh, Patrick Stewart!
DAD: Yeah, they had him dressed up as the rover!
ME: 'The NEW captain'?

I guess Dad's a TOS guy all the way.

Timing

Dec. 16th, 2013 01:44 pm
bloodyrosemccoy: (YEEEEAAAAH)
MOM: *reading aloud from a book* "After expulsion from their villages, the best prospect for these young, desperate peasant girls was to ..."
at this exact moment, DAD enters
MOM: "... go to London and work as prostitutes."
DAD: *eyebrow*
ME: brightly We're making plans for if the neurosurgical practice falls through!
DAD: ... Why London?

fin
bloodyrosemccoy: (DEEP HURTING)
The Insurance Part

ME: Hi, billing lady! I've been working out every single possible angle of this whole "paying for surgery" business. I think I've worked out how to pay for it all, but I just need reassurance. Does this payment plan work?
BILLING LADY: Oh, totally! All set! We've got your deductible all worked out!
ME: Great! And this won't turn out to be all fucked up later, right?
BILLING LADY: Of course not!
ME: ... Against my better judgment, I am going to believe you.

Pre-Op

NURSE: Okay, just a few more things to go through. First, please put all your stuff into this bag
ME: Right!
NURSE: Then put on this paper bag and matching booties!
ME: You got it!
NURSE: Then pee into this container.
ME: Sure th--wait, what the hell is this?
NURSE: We need a sample of your urine.
ME: In a toothpaste cap?
NURSE: Now, now. It's at least thimble-sized.
ME: What, you need, like, half a cubic centimeter, tops?
NURSE: Well, you haven't drunk anything since last night, have you? How much are you expecting to have to pee now?

So I went into the bathroom to change into my paper bag and Pee In The Cup. And, in order to make this as inconvenient as possible, the tiny bathroom contained exactly two things: a toilet and a roll of toilet paper. Which means that once you've whizzed all over yourself and into the cup, you 1) have no where to set the cup, and 2) have to exit the bathroom to wash your hands. Which is also awkward when trying to adjust your paper bag.

ME: This is a hazing, isn't it.
NURSE: You have to prove your devotion to the surgery!
ME: The thousands of dollars didn't do that already?

Op Op

One of the things about getting surgery in the hospital where your dad works is that all the staff know your dad. It's weird to have the anesthesiologist laughing that "she even rolls her eyes just like her dad!"

It also means that I know a little bit of doctor-dynamics backstory.

ANESTHESIOLOGIST: Well, hi there! Lie on this table. We'll get you all straightened out.
ME: Is that the Rolling Stones playing?
ANESTHESIOLOGIST: Nope, it's the Who.
ME: Don't get to play that when you do surgeries with Dad, do you?
ANESTHESIOLOGIST: Well ... he likes classic rock ...
ME: I know. But not for surgery.
ANESTHESIOLOGIST: He prefers ... well ...
ME: Smooth jazz.
ANESTHESIOLOGIST: *wistful sigh* Yes. Yes, he does.
ME: I feel ya, buddy.

Anesthesia Is WHACK

ANESTHESIOLOGIST: Anyway! Let's get started. Here, I'll just put some local anesthetic in your hand here ...
ME: DAMN! That is a big old bump on my hand!
ANESTHESIOLOGIST: And then I'm going to put in the general anesthesia itself ...
ME: Sounds good!
RECOVERY NURSE: I see you're waking up!
ME: ... wharrgarbl?
RECOVERY NURSE: Yup. Surgery's over. We'll have you on your way home in a little while!
ME: ... did I ... miss ... something?
RECOVERY NURSE: Just your gallbladder!

Seriously, y'all. Anesthesia doesn't give you the same sense as when you're asleep. When you sleep, you have at least some sense that you have been asleep. Anesthesia is more like those couple of times I've passed out--it's less like feeling you've been unconscious and more a sense that you just hit one of those time skips the Harlem Globetrotters kept running into in Futurama--you're in one place, and then suddenly BAMF and you're struggling to comprehend how the hell you wound up in the recovery room.*

I also became aware, before I really was paying attention to anything else, that I was hooting with every exhale.

I'm not sure why, but when I am feeling under the weather, I have this tendency to hoot. Or hum, or moan--I'm not sure what you'd call it. I just make these little soft moany noises. For some reason, it makes me feel better. Here, though, I couldn't seem to not hoot. Every time I let out a breath, it was with a little noise. Mom informs me that I was constantly commenting on it ("oh, I just did it again"), but all I remember is trying not to just to see if I could stop. I couldn't.

Home To Sock Jail

The other thing I hadn't thought about was that I was going to be taking compression socks home with me--little leg wraps that puff up to help with circulation, so's to prevent deep vein thrombosis and pulmonary embolism. Mom got me set up with them that first day. Pain in the ass, they are. Every time I had to pee I'd either have to take them off or unplug their little motor and carry it with me to the bathroom.

It also presented another issue.

CAT: Oh, you've just had surgery? So what? In case you haven't noticed, I am stuck outside, and am at your window demanding that you make the long trip around to the back door to let my fuzzy ass inside.
ME: You're lucky I'm so goddamn nice, cat. All right, I'm going back to Sock Jail.
CAT: I'll probably want to go out again in a few minutes. First I'll come check out your room and OH SHIT WHAT THE HELL IS THAT
ME: It's my sock motor.
CAT: HOLY FUCKING FUCK IT IS MAKING NOISE
ME: Yeah, it does that.
CAT: IT WILL GET US ALL
ME: Don't worry. It's a rental. It'll be gone soon.
CAT: I AM ON TO YOU, BUZZING THING. YOU'RE IN LEAGUE WITH THE TRAIN, AREN'T YOU
ME: At least you have good survival instincts.

Insurance Strikes Back

INSURANCE COMPANY: Guess what! Your insurance payment plan is all fucked up!
ME: I wish you jerks wouldn't deliver these letters on Friday afternoons. Now I gotta wait all weekend before I can call you and yell about this.

And So

So that was what happened a couple of weeks ago. And then I loafed around for two weeks having mood swings and feeling like stomped shit, and the only thing that made it really bearable was that lineup of audiobooks I got.** But now, it's been enough time that I think I'm starting to feel normal! It's kind of a nice feeling. My sleep schedule is still Even More Fucked than it was before this whole gallbladdery disaster, but hopefully that will get fixed soon.

The other weird thing is feeling the very obvious absence of a gallbladder that has been very much PRESENT for a couple of years. It doesn't feel like an empty space; I'm just not getting the sense of some large, bilious*** alien sitting just under my boob.

And it wasn't just a subjective feeling. I went in for my post-op the other day and my doctor just about burst into the room.

DOCTOR: YOUR GALLBLADDER WAS THE BIGGEST, INFLAMEDEST GALLBLADDER I HAVE EVER SEEN! IT'S A GOOD THING WE GOT IT OUT!
ME: So peeing in the toothpaste cap was justified after all!

It's always a validation to realize that you felt rotten for a reason. Hopefully I will now feel less rotten. Every day seems to be getting better about that!


*Or, that one memorable time when I passed out, why the hell you're lying in a wet bathtub with your Dad throwing a towel over the shower door at you so you'll be decent when he opens it up to see if you're still alive.

**For the record, Bruce Coville's Full-Cast Audio Unicorn Chronicles are pretty excellent. A few of the voice actors' choices were Not How I Imagined Them (the attempt to Ed Wynn-ize Medafil was weird, and the first book's voice for Lightfoot was kind of ridiculous), but overall they are audiobooks as they should be.

***"Bilious" is a rather startlingly apt description. Before all this nonsense I hadn't realized it, but there is a very specific feeling associated with it. The closest other description I have is "sour"--as in, it felt like there was a big sour THING just sitting in there--but really, even that doesn't work.

O SNAP

Aug. 17th, 2013 05:28 pm
bloodyrosemccoy: (Beastly)
ME: So I'm trying to look up gallbladder attack symptoms, and man these patient sites are TERRIBLE. They're explaining it to you like you're a fairly stupid first grader.

DAD: Or a family practice doctor.


Doctors have opinions, it would seem.

... Yeah, this thing's gotta come out. That was not a fun night.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Movie Sign)
For some years now the grocery store nearest our house has been slowly descending into a dystopian wasteland. The setup is haphazard, the bakery and deli are half-assed at best, most of the stock is from this terrible off-brand company that seems to make all of its products from soup to pecans with a 3D printer, and the most helpful employee in the store seems like the kind of guy whose most treasured possession is a chainsaw named after his mother.* It has become an unpleasant experience.

So we've started going to a farther away, but much more pleasant store, which is like sunshine and butterflies compared to the nuclear winter of our local place. It's got friendly staff, delicious local artisan organic free range everything, lovingly set up displays, delicious chicken salad sandwiches, and an all-around better selection of products. And it only occasionally tries to kill you.

Today, for instance. Today Mom and I were walking in for a shopping run for the office, and Mom was straight up assaulted in the doorway. By the door.

As it turns out, getting whacked in the ribs by a rogue automatic sliding door is REALLY GODDAMN PAINFUL. Mom couldn't even indulge in some therapeutic swearing, because after an initial "FUCK" whooshed out of her all her breath was gone. She staggered in and sat down. We both decided that it was important to tell someone about this, if for no other reason than that the store is constantly swarming with really old people (I guess old people like pleasant grocery stores, too) and if that door hit a little old lady with osteoperosis, it might crush her to powder. So we asked for a manager.

HELPFUL LOUD GIRL: YEAH, THE DOOR IS BROKEN. I'M SORRY, I THOUGHT IT WAS STUCK! IT HIT YOU? I'LL GET SOMEONE!
THE SOMEONE SHE GOT: What's up?
HELPFUL LOUD GIRL: THE DOOR HIT HER! I'M GOING TO GO TURN IT OFF COMPLETELY BECAUSE IT HIT HER AND THAT'S DANGEROUS AND IT'S WARM ENOUGH WE CAN JUST TURN IT OFF AND LEAVE IT OPEN SO I'LL DO THAT NOW!
CUSTOMER AT SELF-CHECK-OUT, WHERE HELPFUL LOUD GIRL IS SUPPOSED TO BE STATIONED: Can I get my 5¢ bag discount please?
HELPFUL LOUD GIRL: JUST AS SOON AS I TURN OFF THIS DOOR SO IT DOESN'T HIT ANYONE ELSE!
MOM: *wheeze*
THE SOMEONE: I'll go get a manager.
THE SOMEONE: in the distance Manager! Some lady slammed into the door!
ME: I could write a linguistics monograph on how she worded that.
MOM: Ha--OW. Don't make me laugh.
ME: Are you going to live?
MOM: I think I bruised a rib. I'll let you know if my lung starts to collapse.
HELPFUL LOUD GIRL: I TURNED THE DOOR OFF. I THINK THAT'S BEST. I DIDN'T ASK MANAGEMENT BECAUSE I KNOW THIS IS WHAT THEY WANT AND WE DON'T WANT ANYONE ELSE HURT AND--
ME: Thank you! That's good! I think that self-check-out lady is going to whack you with a mop in a second.
HELPFUL LOUD GIRL: OH, RIGHT. BUT THE DOOR IS OFF, JUST SO YOU KNOW!
MANAGER: I am concerned about this.
ME: Join the club.
MOM: Nah, I can walk it off, it's a good hurt. I just won't inhale for a few days.
MANAGER: Are you going to hypothetically see a doctor?
MOM: No plans at the moment, but I'll keep you informed.
MANAGER: Are you going to sue us, hypothetically?
ME: That depends. Are you hypothetically interested in giving us some free chicken salad sandwiches?
MOM: Shut up, dear. As to suing you, I'm thinking no. I just want this written down somewhere.

So we got that all squared away and continued shopping. All the other employees expressed concern over Mom's clearly pained demeanor. It was still the nicest damn grocery store we'd ever been to.

ME: I knew there had to be something wrong with this place.
MOM: And yet we still prefer it to our local dystopia.
ME: Well, sure. That off-brand Soylent Green they sell is awful. Probably not even made of real people.

Our luck this week had better improve, because with Mom's flattening and my brother's broken hand, we've got two casualties heading into Family Awesome Time. Here's hoping nobody gets eaten by a bear or something.


*He is actually pretty helpful, though. Never says a word, but if you ask him where something is he'll immediately leave whatever he was doing and lurch off silently, and if you follow him he'll lead you directly to the item. Then he vanishes like a ghost back to the stockroom or wherever.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Sweet Moves)
Mom was gone for the last two weeks, and you know what that means! Time for Adventures With Dad!

The first Adventure With Dad started while Mom was still around, the night before she left. The Fourth of July celebrations were marred, or enhanced if you’re like me, when some weather god left the Thunderstorm switch jammed on. So that night I went upstairs to make myself a snack, listening to the wind and the pouring rain and the thunder. Whoosh it went, and patapatapata, and CRACKA-BOOM!.

And then something on the roof went: WHUNKita-WHUNKita-WHUNKita-WHUNKA-WHUMPA THUD.

Well, shit, I thought. We’d just had the roof completely revamped, and here it sounded like Santa Claus’s drunken summer joyride had just gone horribly wrong all over it. I waited for the inevitable emerging of the other household members to inquire after that horrendous noise.

Nothing happened.

ME: Hey! Did anybody else hear a godawful noise just now?

DAD: *snore*

MOM: That’s just the thunder, honey. Go back to bed.

ME: Thunder makes a lot of noise, yes, but does not generally go “thud.”

Turns out the varmint caps Dad had installed a couple of years ago had been loosened by our roofing guy, and the wind had set a couple of them rolling merrily. We located one on the edge of the roof itself, but the other was nowhere to be found.

DAD: We should get out there and find it! And then put them back on! Right now! At 1:30 in the morning! In the pouring rain! With lightning and thunder around us!

ME: Dad, I am fairly sure no varmints are going to crawl into the chimney in the next 6 hours. Let’s wait until going on the roof doesn’t spell instant death, shall we?

We managed to convince him to go back to bed for a few hours. Fortunately the rain let up, and by the next morning it was clear enough that he could go out to track down the other cap (it was in the neighbors’ yard) while I took Mom to the airport.

When I got back, he was already on the roof.

ME: For crying out loud, you are a goddamn BRAIN AND SPINE doctor. Didn’t it occur to you that it was a basic safety precaution to have someone else around in case you fell ?

DAD: You were taking to long! THIS HAD TO BE DONE.

So the caps are back on, and Dad made it off the roof, and Mom made it to California.

DAD: *plaintive* Why do these disasters always happen when your mom leaves?

ME: It’s not so much that more disasters happen. It’s just that they feel disastrous because you and I are clueless goddamn morons when it comes to taking care of things.

DAD: You’re probably right. So, what shall we have for dinner tonight?

ME: Rice Krispies sounds great to me.

DAD: It’s going to be a long fortnight.

And it was. But it was a fun fortnight, too. Tune in next time for more Adventures, such as Cookin’ With Dad!
bloodyrosemccoy: (Vulcan Knitting)
ME: Remind me when we swing by the office supplies store on Tuesday ... I need a protractor.

MOM: A PROTRACTOR?! What the hell is a protractor?

ME: You know, for measuring angles?

MOM: ...

ME: It's the D-shaped ruler?

MOM: ...

MY SISTER: You know, Mom. The turtle stencil.

MOM: OH, the TURTLE STENCIL! Well, why didn't you say so? So it's called a "protractor," eh?

ME: You thought it was just for drawing turtles?

MY SISTER: Hey, we're English majors. To us, it's a turtle stencil.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Pirate Key)
ME: *snore* ... yo-ho-ho ... *snore* ... yarr ... *snore* ... devils and black sheep and really bad eggs ...

TELEPHONE: RING

ME: *sn--YARRGARBLwhat?

TELEPHONE: I SAID "RING" DAMMIT

ME: Yarr--uh, hello?

LADY: Is this Amelia?

ME: Yes?

LADY: WHY AREN'T YOU ANSWERING THE DOOR?

ME: The door?

LADY: We are TRYING to deliver FLOWERS.

ME: Flowers?

LADY: So are you gonna answer the door?

ME: Uh. One minute. Do you--

LADY: *PHONESLAM!*

ME: Right. Door.

So I went upstairs to accept flowers from what turned out to be a delivery man resembling nothing so much as Yoda's big brother.

ME: Oh, hi! Thanks a--OOF!

Which is what you say when the extremely disgruntled giant Yoda on your porch shoves a vase of sunflowers into your solar plexus, turns, and stomps back to his van without a word.

I stood in the doorway in my Mickey Mouse pajamas, holding the vase as the van peeled out of my driveway, no doubt on its way to deliver more sunshine and happiness to another lucky celebrant.

ME: ... Huh.

I've been laughing about it all day. It does seem to be in keeping with my alternative birthday theme--when it's not pirates on my birthday, it's surrealism.* Plus, the flowers are gorgeous, from the ever-awesome [livejournal.com profile] acrossthelake and [livejournal.com profile] i_blaze_the, who have this superpower where they can send presents and well-wishes and so forth on time, something that has always eluded me. I shall have to get a photo tomorrow when it's light to get their full effect.


*For example, there was that one birthday that involved an old man waving a grossly deformed cycloptic sheep's head at me and urgently insisting that the only surefire way to prevent my unborn babies from sharing its fate was total sexual abstinence. Even at fifteen I thought that was a weird direction to take a ninth-grade botany lecture.
bloodyrosemccoy: (A Zorg!)
And now, for some reason, we're watching Alien: Resurrection.

RIPLEY 7: K ... k ... ill ... me ...

RIPLEY 8: *FLAMES ON THE SIDE OF EVERYONE'S FACE*

RON PERLMAN: Must be a chick thing.

MY SISTER: Great line. Seriously, Ron? What, like she's on the rag?

*pause*

ME: Shit, that's a frightening thought.

MY SISTER: Oh, JESUS, you're RIGHT.

ME: THERE GOES ANOTHER PAIR OF PANTS

MY SISTER: GAME OVER, MAN

ME: THE AGONY

MY SISTER: I DISSOLVED ANOTHER TAMPON

ME: THE PLUMBING IS ON FIRE

MY SISTER: GIMME THAT FLAMETHROWER SO THAT I MAY DO MYSELF IN

ME: K ... ILL ... ME ...

MY SISTER: ... yeah, that would be a legitimate reason to call it 'the curse.'

ME: I am not even going to think about what this means for the womb-having Alien Queen Brad Dourif was blathering on about.

MY SISTER: Yeah, massive hull breach. Leave them in space for a while, and the whole alien problem pretty much solves itself.
bloodyrosemccoy: (World's Geekiest Icon)
Took my sister to get her cast upgraded yesterday. So far she’s been making do with a splint—a plastery chunk under an ace bandage and a bunch of athletic tape. Which was all fine and dandy, but lacked a certain je ne sais quoi, which in this case means “giant cybertronic anime-character boot.” The doctors had to correct that.

So first we went into the Chamber Of Getting Your Cast Removed. There was a nice lady in the next berth over, patiently waiting to get her dainty wrist cast off. She smiled slightly at my sister and me as we came in, then watched uncertainly as a nurse wrestled with the splint.

NURSE: Sometimes—oof!—these come right—ARGH—off, and other times …
MY SISTER: THIS IS MY PAIN FACE.
NURSE: How did you (dammit!) break your ankle?
MY SISTER: I was riding my bike, and OH GOD OW.
ME: You know, that actually works as part of the story and an interjection of intense pain!
NURSE: *standing up* I’m gonna get the saw.

While she was hunting that down, a familiar voice in the hallway made me glance up. There was Dad, just wrapping up his semimonthly meeting with the ortho guys where they get together and discuss all possible senses of the phrase “pain in the ass.”

ME: Hi, Dad!
NURSES and DOCTORS: Oh, this is your dad? Blah blah nice to meet you my name is Dr. Hammersmash and this is Nurse Blackandecker blah blah …
MY SISTER: … Ow?
EVERYONE: How did this happen?
MY SISTER: I don’t care anymore.
NURSE: Right, yes, saw.
X-RAY TECH: Let me do that, all for my good buddy, your dad.

The X-ray guy found the saw—a little round one that sounded like a particularly angry dentist’s drill.

X-RAY GUY: I’m going in! Cover me!
NURSES: We got your back!
SAW: GREEEEAAAARRR
DAD and the OTHER DOCTORS: Blah blah medical blah blah important doctors blah blah how did it happen?
MY SISTER: OW GODDAMN
NICE LADY WITH THE WRIST CAST: *look of panic-stricken fight-or-flight*
MY SISTER’S CAST: BLAM
X-RAY GUY: Ta-da!
EVERYONE: HOORAY!
*Pythonesque pause*
SOME DOCTOR: So.
DAD: Yes.
MY SISTER: Ow.
X-RAY GUY: X-rays?
DOCTORS: X-rays!
DAD: X-rays!
NURSE: X-rays!
MY SISTER: X-OHGODOW-rays!

So they all trooped off to X-ray her. They gestured to me to come along.

I looked at the traumatized lady with the broken wrist. She was the only other person left in the room.

ME: … Anyway, how are you?

Fortunately, a nurse came back a moment later, so I could leave without feeling like I was abandoning the nice lady to a dark pit of bleak, lonely despair. My sister got her x-rays and had her stitches removed from the incision. Then they fitted her with a Walking Boot You Are Not Supposed To Walk In.

NURSE: How’s that?
MY SISTER: It’s … a little bit … big?
NURSE: It might be somewhat … large … yes …
ME: Oh, for crying out loud. It’s Kuribo’s Shoe.

They sent her home with it, but the darn thing was too big, and anyway it’s hard to stomp spinies when you aren’t supposed to put weight on your boot that was made for walking. So she went back today and got the delicate, ladies’ model of GIANT BOOT. She says it feels much less unmanageable, which is good, because she’s got to have it on for four weeks.

Though I still think we should’ve kept the first one. You never know when you’re going to have to punt a spiny, after all.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Backyard Beach)
Some days, neither reason nor inclination exist to stop you from running through the sprinklers in your T-shirt and jeans like a five-year-old.

Today, for example. Today is one of those days.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Beastly)
So yesterday while explaining fanfiction to Dad,* I had a curious little epiphany:

If I ever do get this book published, and nobody slashes these two particular characters in new and terrifying ways that would never occur to either of the characters, or to me, I will be very disappointed in the internet.

Never did understand the writers who were against it. Me, I just know I’ve got the master copy in my head,** and whatever crazy fans do with it is gravy. Sometimes thought-provoking, sometimes hilarious gravy.


*He read an article about Fifty Shades of Grey. You know, one of those articles that is shocked—SHOCKED I TELL YOU—to find out that older women are interested in reading SEXY SEX WRITING ABOUT SEX.

ME: Clearly the author of this article does not spend a lot of time on fanfiction sites, or they’d find out that Grey is a typical bit of it.

DAD: What is this “fanfiction” you speak of?

**This is also true of all works that are not mine, of course. Nobody has the correct version of Star Wars but me.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Calvin And Uncle Joker)
Why I Was Late For Work On Saturday:

DAD: Hey, Amelia!
ME: Aaaagh! Don't come in! I am in a state of undress.
DAD: Fine, I'll holler through the door. But I need an opinion.
ME: I believe that the Star Wars prequels detract from George Lucas's original commitment to mythicism and remove the mystique of Darth Vader, and therefore do not count.
DAD: I need an opinion on the window in our back door.
ME: I'm for it!
DAD: Just put on some pants or something and come see.

So I got dressed and went out to see what had Dad so darn puzzled.

ME: Huh.
DAD: See what I mean?
ME: It appears to be … shattering.
DAD: Yes.
ME: How long has this been going on?
DAD: I'm not sure. I just noticed it a few minutes ago.

The back door was, indeed, shattering. In the progressive aspect. As we watched, an ever-denser network of cracks was crazing its way through one of the full-size panes. It was making an ominous noise, too.

BACK DOOR: Kk … kkk-kk … kkk …
ME: This can't possibly end well.
DAD: Any suggestions?
ME: I'll check the internet. Hey, internet! What do I do about cracking windows?
INTERNET: So you want to hack your Microsoft operating system, eh?
ME: What? No! I'm talking about windows slowly bursting into a thousand shards!
INTERNET: Oh, you're looking for XXX Mac/PC slash fiction!
ME: GOD DAMMIT I AM TALKING ABOUT AN ACTUAL WINDOW THAT IS ACTUALLY BREAKING.
INTERNET: Well, I have some legal forums with advice on tenant/landlord disputes pertaining to broken windows.
ME: That's closer, anyway …
INTERNET: Or there's always XXX tenant/landlord slash fiction!
ME: … The internet is no good, Dad. We're on our own.
BACK DOOR: Kk-kkk! Kk …

The window was bowing slightly now, and tiny grains of glass were sprinkling onto the porch. We supposed we could let it shatter by itself, but there was always the danger it would explode and make an awful and unsafe mess--especially not good if a certain cat decided to bang on the door to come in. And neither of us wanted to spend the afternoon in the emergency room digging glass out of our eyeballs, as might happen if it blew up at us. So we decided to do the most logical thing: cover it with a tarp and smash it ourselves.

BIG STICK: *thunk*
ME: You hit the wall.
DAD: THAT WAS A PRACTICE SWING. You concentrate on holding up the tarp.
ME: You want I should paint a bull's-eye on it?
BIG STICK: *BAM*
BACK DOOR: *CRASH tinkle*
ME: All right! Quick! Grab as much loot as you can--oh, right, we live here.
DAD: Please tell me I only got the outer pane.
ME: Inner one's still holding strong!
DAD: The precision of a surgeon, that's what I have!
ME: But you're terrible at breaking and entering.

We looked at the pile that used to be our back window.

ME: S'pose we ought to clean this up.
DAD: "We"? You're already late for work. You get to the library. I'll clean up.
ME: Absolutely. I leave the glass-handling to you, the surgeon whose entire livelihood is based on uninjured hands!
DAD: As it should be.

We're still not sure what broke the window. My theory is that the wooden frame has been warping for years, and the glass has been under stress, so that when something hit it on Saturday it was the last straw. But the way it shattered in slow motion was unexpected. At least we have another pane, so that thieves and murderers, and more to the point raccoons, can't get in.

… Come to think of it, maybe it was the raccoons. Wouldn't put it past those little bastards.
bloodyrosemccoy: (Pintsize Party!)
Mom's birthday was a bit of a moody one this year. For one thing, it's a rather painful reminder that her twin brother isn't around for it. And there was also the unexpectedly heart-wrenching search for a restaurant for her birthday dinner. We decided to check out a few new ones, and none were what we were looking for. But we almost stayed anyway, because each restaurant was COMPLETELY DEAD. We'd walk in and the hosts would look up with dawning hope--and when we left, tragic disappointment crashed back down on them. I tellya, we nearly stuck around out of sheer guilt.

But it worked out all right--we found a restaurant with unexpectedly good food, and came home to watch a good movie or two. And Mom and I had a tasty breakfast earlier. I think it evened out pretty well, so, hey, happy birthday, Mom!
bloodyrosemccoy: (Bat Signal)
Just got back from putting the car out of its misery. Alas, 'tis the end of an era, a reminder of the impermanence of objects and, indeed, of all of us in time, blah blah ...

Anyway. The Crate's gone. Anybody know where I can get a good used car?

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