Trick or Treat

I loved Halloween when I was a kid. We lived on military bases, my parents thought we were completely safe, and we would trick-or-treat like normal little kids-walking from house to house with a huge group of kids from the neighborhood, and then returning home to give out candy at the door. It was totally awesome. My parents weren't especially concerned about our candy, there wasn't any real fear of razor blades...my mother would "inspect" our candy, but that was really a code for sorting through our candy, eating the stuff she liked, and then returning the remainder to us. Luckily she has some pretty horrible taste in candy (she eats black jelly beans. Enough said.) so that wasn't even bad.

And then we moved to Alabama. And we were no longer military. Instead we were now living in no-man's land where our nearest neighbor was an elderly couple and everyone drives their kids trick-or-treating. It was totally lame. My father, not being a huge fan of people in general, was really not down with the whole carting-your-kids-around-creation-for-candy thing. Instead he preferred to buy us some candy and keep us at home. My first Halloween in Alabama we went out to dinner at Red Lobster. The following year we dressed up and were taken to my grandparents' house where we were given a zip-lock back of candy apiece. Seriously. Moving to Alabama killed Halloween. Every year to this day, my sisters dress up for Halloween and give out candy at the door...mostly to kids that are way too old to still be trick-or-treating (i.e. they drove themselves to our house for candy cause they knew where we lived.) It's not a real happenin' holiday.

This year I live in a nice little neighborhood full of families. I live down the street from an elementary school. There are sidewalks all over the place and every day I see at least 10 kids under the age of 10 within a 2 block radius of my house. This year I'm going to give out candy for Halloween. To actual children. That are cute. And it's going to be awesome.

I'm so excited. :)

I'm not in Alabama anymore

At work, phone calls come in from various hospitals, and we respond on site depending on the status of the patient and whether or not their family wants to meet with us. In my old job, the first person on call would field all the phone calls, speak with the hospital, and decide whether or not it was necessary for them to drive in the middle of the night to a hospital. This meant that you got a lot of phone calls that kept you up all night, but there were quite a number of times that you told the hospital that you would send someone in the morning, they weren't an eligible candidate, or you would follow up with them later by phone. Going into the hospital was unnecessary and there's no sense in getting out of bed for nothing.

At my new job, there is one person every day who fields all the phone calls. But rather than dispatching themselves to these calls, they dispatch others. This is a nice little system because rather than being awakened 10 times in a night for something that you're just going to follow by phone, or someone that isn't a candidate, you're just awakened once or twice a night and in those cases, you're actually going to leave your house. It's nice most of the time. However, I'm starting to find the downside. Depending on who is fielding the phone calls for the night, you might be leaving your house for no reason. None at all. A person who isn't a candidate? "Could you just go over and look at the chart? The nurse did a really good job calling in the referral." Sure. I'll drive 45 minutes for no reason. Why not? "Could you do a chart review on this case? They're in the ER." Sure, I'll drive at 3 AM to a hospital to find a chart that literally has one page in it. One page. No age, medical history, circumstances of injury, nothing. One page with a neuro exam on it. I drove into the city for that this morning at 3 AM. I was at the hospital for 10 minutes. It doesn't take me that long to read a sentence.

At least I didn't have to fly anywhere. :)

Bulldog

Today I was at lunch with a coworker and learned that the "bulldog" clamps we use when pumping kidneys are actually called "Cho Clamps" in honor of their inventor, a transplant surgeon here in New England. Which really got me thinking...I should invent a piece of surgical equipment. I've had this thought before...anything you use in an operating room automatically costs a bazillion dollars. And I could really use a piece of a bazillion dollars. The problem is, I'm lazy. And poor. I certainly don't have the desire to expend the effort necessary to invent something. And I can't afford to build a prototype even if by some miracle of God I did spend an afternoon doing something other than napping on my couch to the sounds of M*A*S*H.

Soo, I figure what I need to do is improve an existing piece of equipment. Take the Cho clamp for example. I make the exact same clamp out of some other material...perhaps make it less of a pain in the ass to squeeze open...and voila! Show me the money. The problem is, I'm also too lazy for this approach. Still involves designing something...perhaps some welding...not gonna happen. How does anyone ever muster the energy to invent anything?! I think you'd have to be on some super diet and sleeping regimen. Which made me think, how does anything get invented in third world countries? If I ate rice all the time, I'd probably sleep even more than I do. Actually, I do eat rice all the time...I'd probably sleep about the same. Minus the time that I eat Ramen noodles...but you get the idea. Anyway, the thought of developing countries developing surgical instruments (you're wondering how we got here, aren't you? Don't worry...me too) made me realize exactly what I'd need to do.

I have to find a piece of surgical equipment that was invented by a terrorist. Or someone French. Then I will "invent" the exact same piece of equipment, rename it (I'm thinking "Freedom Clamps"), sell it for maybe 5% less than the original-just to get everyone on board. And then I will spend my afternoons swimming in my money bin.


Just kidding... I'll probably just nap on a pile of freshly laundered $100 bills.

Many Happy Returns

As some of you may know, I went to a wedding in Philadelphia a week ago (Congrats Anonymous's!) My preparation for the trip was pretty sparse. I knew I needed a dress to wear, but I really didn't have time to go buy one. I finally went the day before the wedding to the mall and found a dress that I *loved.* It was black with blue flowers..or maybe it was blue with black flowers, but whatever. I really liked it, it was on the clearance rack, score. The only downside was that they didn't have it in my size. They had it two sizes bigger...which isn't really great when you're talking strapless dresses on a girl with not a lot to hold it up. So, they had the same style dress in my size, but different colors. A black and white dress with a different pattern. And it fit, but it wasn't that blue that I loved. So, I called Tom for an opinion: dress that I love that doesn't fit but doesn't look terribly big, or dress that I don't really care that much about but fits really well. Because the mall is like 2 miles from my house and the dresses were both on clearance, we decided I would buy them both, he would help me decide, and I would return the one I didn't want later. Seemed reasonable enough.

That night, I try them both on, and it's decided that the one that fits is really much better looking and will be a lot more comfortable for me because I won't have to pull it up all night. So, black and white dress it is. I decide to wash the dress that night because I'm not a huge fan of traipsing around in a dress that 50 other girls have had cinched around their midsection. So, I follow the laundering instructions for the cotton dress. Should be a breeze. I pull it out of the washing machine, and it has changed colors. It has gone from black and white, to gray all over. I have no time to buy another dress, so black and blue it is.

In the end it worked out because I loved the black and blue dress, but it did drive me crazy all night trying to make sure it stayed up. Also, Tom's tie that I'd picked out ended up matching my dress perfectly (although I'd chosen it when I was wearing the black and white dress) so everyone got to tease us all night for matching. :p (Photo stolen from Jenn.) So, that was good times as well. Anyway, wore the unwashed black and blue dress, danced, had a good time. Fully intended to return both dresses when I got home, because who needs a dress they can't clean? And who needs a dress that's two sizes too big? Not me.

So, yesterday I go to Macy's with my two dresses...neither of which still have the tags attached. I walk to the counter with the sign clearly displaying "Dresses for return must have tags still attached." I explain to the girl behind the counter that with one washing, my dress had gone from black and white to dingey gruel. She was appropriately shocked and went to get her manager to help me with my returns. And here's where it gets interesting. I tell her the situation, and she tells me "You shouldn't have washed it." Um..if I shouldn't wash it, then the tag shouldn't say to wash it in cold water with like colors. I tell her so. "I know it says you can wash it, but I wouldn't have." Apparently she had an aversion to clean clothes. In the end, she let me return both dresses tag-free while explaining to me how dresses shouldn't be washed. And I explained to her how important it is for me to not come in contact with other people's deodorant. In the end, we both got what we wanted. I got to wear a dress for free, and she got me to leave.

Yesterday I went to Target and bought Reese's Peanut Butter Pumpkins which turned out to be melted and misshapen. I plan to eat them all and then return the empty packaging. I figure I'm on a roll, right? :-p

Certifiable

About a week ago, I got a notice in my mailbox that I missed delivery of a certified letter. I don't know about you, but I don't get a whole lot of certified mail. Or really any mail that doesn't require me to respond with a check or money order within an allotted time span. So, I was kind of excited. I never get good mail, it's certified, and I have *no* idea who it's from! Woo! So, I sign the little sheet asking for redelivery and for them to just leave it in my doorway. The next day I arrive home and there's no certified letter. There's just my signed sheet sitting in the bottom of the mailbox...completely ignored. I'm dying to get this letter, but the post office closes so early, and of course last week is the week that I'm not spending all day on my couch in my pajamas.

It takes me another two days to finally have time to make it to the post office. I walk in and present my poor little slip that I've signed seven ways to Sunday in a vain attempt at getting them to leave the letter at my house. The lady finally finds the envelope. She flashes the return address at me before making me sign the other side. All I could read in that moment was the word "COBRA." Who the hell is COBRA?! Why would they send me a certified letter?! I just knew that the envelope would self-destruct within 10 minutes of being opened. I thought "Top Secret Bad Ass Mission Instructions. Certified."

I get out to the car and excitedly open the envelope.

"This letter is to notify you that your health insurance (from your previous employer) will lapse on July 24th. In order to insure that you are not without coverage, please fill out the enclosed forms and return no later than July 20th."

The letter is dated June 18th. Way to go. It only took 3 months to get me that certifiably urgent message.

Stupid COBRA.

Dedication

I had a message from Facebook saying that my sister had dedicated a song to me.



I totally feel the same way about her.

Invitation

Today I received an invitation to a staff meeting at work. That in itself is weird. It got weirder.

What: Staff Meeting
When: September 12th from 12-3 PM
Theme: "Won't You Be my Neighbor?"
Please wear a cardigan and tie like Mr. Rogers!

The agenda includes something called "The I's Have It" and entails something involving ice cream and candy eyeballs.

I have no idea what the hell is going on. All I know is that I was on call and the most effort I expended today was deciding whether or not to add chocolate chips to my fudge pudding cup.

This job is insane.