Discovered.
I told my neurologist (a nice guy) that a med I'm on makes me "feel out of control"...
Him: try raising four toddlers and you'll see what out of control is.
Me: try laying in a hospital bed unable to move your body and you'll see what out of control is.
Him: Touché.
I win at tragedy.
Because my MacBook Pro died yesterday, I was left with an orphaned 30” Dell monitor and was forced to run out and get one of the 27” iMac i5’s. So now, this is how I must suffer…
And oh how I do - dragging my mouse across every one of my desktop’s glorious 5120 pixels.
Not sure which I find more ridiculous - that I can track the progress of my pizza with this kind of precision or that I can share my order on Facebook.
Ok, picture this… a bunch of college frat boys sitting around, betting when their pizza will arrive; passing the bong around and their eyes glued upon their screen. With each change of progress, some erupt in cheers, others groan. All while friends call up, “I saw on facebook that you ordered pizza. Let me know when it gets to quality check and I’ll head over”…
Thank you Domino’s.
In which I once scared my dad to death…
So dad was here fixing something and I remembered an incident from childhood I still feel guilty about to this day. I had gotten this fake wound kit for halloween and still had a latex gash I hadn’t used. So a few weeks later, I did up a nasty looking cut on my forearm. To make things realistic as possible, I went down to his workshop (where he did actually let me build things) and turned on a power saw for a few seconds. I then wrapped my fake wound in a towel and walked up to dad in the kitchen. “Dad, I think I need to go to the emergency room.” I pulled off the towel, and in a heartbeat, from the look on his face, realized this was not quite an appropriate prank to play. I pulled it off in an instant before his blood pressure dropped to his feet. “I had one more left from halloween,” I said immediately followed by an uncomfortable laugh. I was 20.
Kidding, I was 13. Over the years I’ve come to realize that dad was the wrong guy to do that do. He is intensely squeamish. Blood, needles, any type of internal anatomy, or the thought of, makes him nauseous.
So today I asked if he remembered. He did.
“Sorry about that.”
Where I’ve been…
Hey everyone. Just letting you know I’m alive and ok. I’m not going to go into much detail, but the reason I dropped of the radar for a couple of months was because I hurt someone I love and wanted to spare them a small bit of pain by not having to see me everyday online while we both healed. I guess I was sparing myself some pain as well. That’s all I’ll mention of it. Anyway, not sure when I’ll be back. My dog is itching (literally) to get back on twitter, so you’ll probably see her back on first. Anyway, thanks for those of you who checked in on me:)
When there are no handicapped spaces available, I have to find two spaces in order to have room for my ramp to open. In this case, the nearest two were far away. This is why I should lobby the ADA to require a couple of handicap spaces about ten rows back in all lots. That way, people with walking issues, or even abusers of the tag, have no incentive parking there over any other space, yet, for people in wheelchairs like me, the distance isn’t the issue, it’s the availability.
