Tuesday, August 25, 2009

You're the best kind of bad juju

Ittybittycrazy is someone I "met" on a social mailing list I've been on for years. One day she pointed me to her blog, she stumbled across mine. The connection was OBVIOUS, and we soon made plans to meet in person. Of course, that took forever between her buzzing social life and my various and sundry malaise. We've managed to have lunch twice now.

The first time was lovely. But later that day, I finally noticed that I was having heart palpitations and was sent off to the ER by my lovely GP. It turns out I didn't blog about my heart palpitations, for as Ms. Bittycrazy will tell you, I SUCK at updating my blog these days. Oh, and it was a perfectly lovely trip...in and out in under 2 hours after they'd monitored my heart and found some extra beats, but nothing dangerous. NOTHING. I held neither the heart palpitations nor the loveliness of the Swedish Cherry Hill ED against my new friend.

Anyway, we had lunch again yesterday. A lovely time was had by all, followed by an incredibly silly walk around the neighborhood trying to find my car. Last night, I cooked up some CHEAPASS tuna I got from Whole Paycheck over the weekend (fresh off the truck for $2.99/lb for the whole fish). I sauteed it on one side, carefully turned it over and stuck it in a 450 degree oven for a few minutes. MAGNIFICENT.

I REMEMBERED to use a potholder to remove the pan from the oven. Not a given for those of you who know me. Went about my business and about two minutes later, pick the pan up. With no potholder. Turns out the handle was still OHMYUNHOLYFREAKINGHELLALMIGHTY hot. Immediately run my hand under cold water, followed by holding on to ice for the next two hours. First degree burns, so somewhat painful, but nothing like it could have been.

Mike and I trekked out to find Spenco 2nd Skin Moist Burn Pads, which it would seem are now kept behind the counter at Bartell because I think they're saturated with narcotics they feel SO good. Came home and it only took two or three tries for mom and I to get the damn burn covered. At some point my mom said something about me reading the directions. I pointed out that I didn't need to RTFM. I've used these things so damned many times I know the FM by heart. Then I think I went off on something about R-ing the FM, but I stopped then.

I realized after my hand is wrapped in an ace bandage (because the 6 feet of tape only cut off my circulation and didn't actually keep the gel in contact with my burned hand), that this is all her fault. Has to be. It's not like I hurt myself when she's not around or anything. Damn it, Bert get off the effing floor.

Anyway, feel fine today. Not even tender. Those burn pads are miracles, but remember to give the secret code word to the pharmacist. Ittybittycrazy may be my newest friend, but at this rate, she'll be the last new one I ever have!!


Anonymous said...

My voodoo worked! And all it took was cutting the head off one live chicken!


Do you have any idea, woman, how long it takes to clean up the blood from one itty bitty chicken?

Philip H. said...

Getting off the F-ing floor would take too much energy! I have used it all up in a weird combination of laughing and crying. Perhaps if Mike drainsthe sweet tea pitcher into my mouth I'll be revived!