1.) So, Mr Barma and I were, in e-mail, coming up with some possible epitaphs for ourselves. In the midst of telling him excitedly (i.e. dorkily) about a new arnica-based product I just bought, I suggested "Andrea was obsessed with topical anti-inflammatories." And he said--and I thought this was a genius idea--that perhaps the lil vials o' Andrea-remains that I would have passed out at my service should have different, individualized epitaphs inscribed on each one. So, listen, not only would I have party favors, I could have party games, wherein each epitaph could be read aloud and my mourners could guess which one was meant for them. It could be the funnest funeral ever! Too bad for me I'd be, y'know, dead.
2.) D went to his PCP this morning. The good news is that he lost 4 pounds and Dr B told him to "keep up the good work!" The bad news? Well, they didn't do any blood work, which I thought was strange because the reason he's been going so frequently is to follow his cholesterol and liver functions. Before we even got back home, the nurse left a voice mail saying he needs to make an appointment to come back and get some labs drawn. head/desk
3.) I have been watching the first season of Dexter on DVD. I must say even though I think Michael C Hall is a fabulous actor, and even though I read the book the series is based on and enjoyed it well enough, and even though I am definitely not squeamish, and even though I do so enjoy black humor, and even though my friend G loves the show and I trust his TV judgment, after watching the first two or three episodes, I almost removed the other DVDs from my queue. There was something way too over the top about it, in a way that reminded me of Nip/Tuck, a show I hate. (Maybe I just dislike shows set in Miami on general principle?) But I stuck with it, and I got sucked in. I still think it's over the top and kinda stupid, but I want to know what happens. So an equivocal thumbs up.
4.) Mr Indemnity thinks that the fact that Mindy McCready looks an awful lot like Mrs Clemens is proof that ol' Rog has no imagination at all (HGH makes the muscles grow, but the cerebral cortex not so much, that's what I think) and that if you're going to bang a woman who looks just like your wife, you ought to just bang your wife and, like, save yourself a lot of aggravation. I can't really argue with any of that.
5.) After I saw John Lester's postgame press yesterday, I must regret he's off my possible hate list. He was talking about learning to pitch quicker, especially when he's in trouble, so that "the bad thoughts don't start" and I was like, ohhhhh, poor baby, he just has performance anxiety. Why I feel empathy/sympathy/pity for someone being paid that much money to throw a baseball, I dunno, but I wanted to hug him. No hugs for Julie Lugo yet, though.
xoxo
3 comments:
Blood work seems to be a dying art. I have to get a liver panel with Tegretol level frequently, and it approaches black comedy. The test is about one tube short of a pint, and either someone forgets entirely (until I remind them)or they don't take enough (Try coming back for a second draw 2 days later!)or someone thinks a big fat draw like this is just the time to have a student stick you.
(PS: I'm nice to the student phelbs: I know the drill better than they do and occasionally they'll faint in my lap, heh heh)
I told you guys the story about the time last year when D was getting his regular blodwork and the new phlebotomist used the wrong tube and he *knew* she was using the wrong tube, right?
But, anyway, never mind the bloodwork! Rumor has it you need some arnica ;-)
Ar-nee-ca! Yummm.
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