23 February 2012

Last night I made A Chicken and 40 Cloves
and, while I didn't eat any of the chicken, I did eat about 30 cloves. Did you know after eating 30 cloves of garlic, roasted or not, you will ooze garlic from every pore? That your mouth will taste like the inside of an old boot that has been buried in a compost pile and fried in castor oil? That your GI system, aged and cantankerous as your disposition, will crankily and with great malice aforethought, let you know it is most severely displeased? Because all this will happen. Conversely, I can't help but to have shaved a few points off that old total cholesterol. So, I got that going for me; which is nice.

FB is snow cave camping today and tomorrow with the Scouts. And when I say that, I don't mean they will discover some geologic formations that are cave-like in flavor and pitch their tents in said cave-like formations. I mean they are finding snow drifts, digging caves into them, and then sleeping in these caves. I, despite my outwardly calm acceptance of the circumstances, am freaking out. I have visions of avalanches, cave ins, frostbite, and all manner of mayhem. I'm sure everything will be fine. I plan to drink heavily.

While I was vacuuming today, SoS said, "Mom? Did you know it's a true fact that a man has to buy everything his wife wants? It's a true fact!" I had to cross my legs to stop from peeing while I laughed. I assure you, he did not get this idea from me, but I'm pretty positive he'll make some woman extremely happy with this attitude. He better find a damn fine job.

I will be working with one of my least favorite doctors for the next three days. *sigh* This man barely has the medical knowledge of your average ocelot. He can't pass his boards. He's tried three times. If I couldn't pass my boards I would be waiting tables, not practicing my preferred profession. He not only gets to practice but he gets promoted. Whatthefrenchtoast?? The last time he gave turnover to the oncoming docs and talked about ordering antibiotics on someone with normal WBCs for a postpartum surgical patient and wanted a catheter for Is&Os, because he thinks that's the only way you can keep track, after he left one said to me, "What are we treating?" My only response was, "Fuck if I know." Which isn't professional but I had already been dealing with this nonsense for several hours and I couldn't take much more. His own partner closed the door after he left and said, "What was that all about?" So, basically, what I'm trying to say is my weekend is going to suck bawls. I should go to sleep, but I'm actually watching The Three Amigos in an effort to retain some semblance of humor.

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