the east end boys and west end girls
Hah. Figures that as soon as I say, "Nothing interesting is happening in my life!", all the shit happens.
Nothing bad, though. Valentine's Day found me in the ER getting stitches in my left index finger. I was cutting block of cheese, and I remember thinking: "I probably shouldn't cut towards myself." And about two seconds after that thought passed through my head, the knife slipped and wedged itself right into my finger. Nice, deep, and sharp too.
At first I thought, "Oh shit. I've nicked an artery." Simply because there was a ton of blood. But then I noticed that it wasn't coming out in spurts like it would if you've nicked an artery -- that, and it wasn't bright red --, so I realized I'd just nicked a vein pretty good. I figured since I could still feel things at the tip of my finger and could bend it just fine I hadn't damaged the nerve or severed the tendon, which was another plus.
At that point, I was like, "Eh. I think I'm okay then." But I couldn't get the bleeding to stop. Then I did, and that's when I noticed that there was a nice big skin flap moving back and forth over the cut. That's when I knew I needed stitches.
So I went to the ER. Drove myself. It was interesting. They had me in and out in about an hour and a half, which wasn't too bad of a wait. It was my first time getting stitches ever, so that was interesting to watch. About the only uncomfortable thing was getting the novocaine injection at the base of my finger. That, and the bulky dressing. You don't really think you use your left index finger that much if you're right handed, but actually, you do.
And my mom, bless her, just happened to call me during the time I was in the ER. (I swear, she has the uncanny ability to call right when something bad or inconvenient is happening. It's freaky.) Naturally, she freaked when I told her where I was, so I had to do some reassuring to let her know I was fine and not bleeding out all over the floor. And as soon as she calmed down, the next phrase out of her mouth was, "Were you drinking?" Sheesh.
(And no, I was not. I had just finished working out and was making myself a snack of apples and cheddar because I was hungry.)
So...that happened. But that's not the main story I wanted to tell. This other one is actually a pretty humorous one involving my boyfriend, who came up to visit me for the weekend.
On Sunday, I had a class up in one of the neighboring counties -- an EMT refresher, as I am expiring this June, so I need to renew. Obviously, I wasn't going to drag The Boy up with me, so he stayed back in my apartment where he was planning to study and cook us dinner for the evening.
Mind you, he is not a chef. He can barely cook. But what he does cook, he cooks (relatively) well. He decided to make this one particular soup that he made once before, which is really quite good. Although I found out later that he didn't know that a clove of garlic apparently meant, well, a clove, and not the whole garlic bulb. Bless.
Anyway, I digress. So, during one of my breaks, I give him a call because he needs to pick up a few things from the grocery store and I have a gift card that I figured he could use. We chat for a little bit, and then there is a slight pause before he goes, "Um, so where can I find a mop?"
And I say, "Why do you need a mop?"
"Because I may have just run the dishwasher to help you out with the dishes [I couldn't get my stitches wet yet], and it--"
At this point, I cut him off and say, "What are you talking about? I don't have any dishwasher liquid--"
And I freeze, because I realize what he did.
"...You used dishwashing liquid in the dishwasher, didn't you?"
Pause. "Um, yes? Are you...not supposed to?"
I believe I audibly facepalmed at that point. "Nope," I said. "Because then the dishwasher will spit suds all over the floor. Dishwasher liquid doesn't foam, unlike dishwashing liquid. That's why it says on the back of a Dawn bottle never to use it in a dishwasher."
"....oh. Well, I still need a mop."
You know, I suppose I could see why some guys wouldn't know that -- like if the mother did all of the housework, or something like that. Or if you don't have a dishwasher in your house. But I've generally noticed that the dishwashing liquid fiasco tends to happen with higher class people (not so much entitled, though those two are rather correlated) who have never been on their own until now, and so don't really know about these things. It's kind of, well, sad. In a funny way.
The greatest part about this whole story was, in my opinion, about how I had previously told my boyfriend about how naive some of my tenants can be because the exact same thing that happened in my apartment happened in several of my tenants' apartments -- one even used laundry detergent in their dishwasher. (My building is where all of the rich college students live.) I even explained to him the difference between dishwashing liquid and dishwasher liquid, too -- and yet, he went and did it anyway.
But that's all right, I guess. No harm, no foul. It's an easy fix, too -- you just need to throw in a cupful of some liquid fabric softener to break the surface tension of the bubbles so you can clear the suds out of the washer. And it definitely gave me a good laugh.
Bless him and his rich boy self. I love him dearly, but he definitely has a lot to learn about living in the real world.
Nothing bad, though. Valentine's Day found me in the ER getting stitches in my left index finger. I was cutting block of cheese, and I remember thinking: "I probably shouldn't cut towards myself." And about two seconds after that thought passed through my head, the knife slipped and wedged itself right into my finger. Nice, deep, and sharp too.
At first I thought, "Oh shit. I've nicked an artery." Simply because there was a ton of blood. But then I noticed that it wasn't coming out in spurts like it would if you've nicked an artery -- that, and it wasn't bright red --, so I realized I'd just nicked a vein pretty good. I figured since I could still feel things at the tip of my finger and could bend it just fine I hadn't damaged the nerve or severed the tendon, which was another plus.
At that point, I was like, "Eh. I think I'm okay then." But I couldn't get the bleeding to stop. Then I did, and that's when I noticed that there was a nice big skin flap moving back and forth over the cut. That's when I knew I needed stitches.
So I went to the ER. Drove myself. It was interesting. They had me in and out in about an hour and a half, which wasn't too bad of a wait. It was my first time getting stitches ever, so that was interesting to watch. About the only uncomfortable thing was getting the novocaine injection at the base of my finger. That, and the bulky dressing. You don't really think you use your left index finger that much if you're right handed, but actually, you do.
And my mom, bless her, just happened to call me during the time I was in the ER. (I swear, she has the uncanny ability to call right when something bad or inconvenient is happening. It's freaky.) Naturally, she freaked when I told her where I was, so I had to do some reassuring to let her know I was fine and not bleeding out all over the floor. And as soon as she calmed down, the next phrase out of her mouth was, "Were you drinking?" Sheesh.
(And no, I was not. I had just finished working out and was making myself a snack of apples and cheddar because I was hungry.)
So...that happened. But that's not the main story I wanted to tell. This other one is actually a pretty humorous one involving my boyfriend, who came up to visit me for the weekend.
On Sunday, I had a class up in one of the neighboring counties -- an EMT refresher, as I am expiring this June, so I need to renew. Obviously, I wasn't going to drag The Boy up with me, so he stayed back in my apartment where he was planning to study and cook us dinner for the evening.
Mind you, he is not a chef. He can barely cook. But what he does cook, he cooks (relatively) well. He decided to make this one particular soup that he made once before, which is really quite good. Although I found out later that he didn't know that a clove of garlic apparently meant, well, a clove, and not the whole garlic bulb. Bless.
Anyway, I digress. So, during one of my breaks, I give him a call because he needs to pick up a few things from the grocery store and I have a gift card that I figured he could use. We chat for a little bit, and then there is a slight pause before he goes, "Um, so where can I find a mop?"
And I say, "Why do you need a mop?"
"Because I may have just run the dishwasher to help you out with the dishes [I couldn't get my stitches wet yet], and it--"
At this point, I cut him off and say, "What are you talking about? I don't have any dishwasher liquid--"
And I freeze, because I realize what he did.
"...You used dishwashing liquid in the dishwasher, didn't you?"
Pause. "Um, yes? Are you...not supposed to?"
I believe I audibly facepalmed at that point. "Nope," I said. "Because then the dishwasher will spit suds all over the floor. Dishwasher liquid doesn't foam, unlike dishwashing liquid. That's why it says on the back of a Dawn bottle never to use it in a dishwasher."
"....oh. Well, I still need a mop."
You know, I suppose I could see why some guys wouldn't know that -- like if the mother did all of the housework, or something like that. Or if you don't have a dishwasher in your house. But I've generally noticed that the dishwashing liquid fiasco tends to happen with higher class people (not so much entitled, though those two are rather correlated) who have never been on their own until now, and so don't really know about these things. It's kind of, well, sad. In a funny way.
The greatest part about this whole story was, in my opinion, about how I had previously told my boyfriend about how naive some of my tenants can be because the exact same thing that happened in my apartment happened in several of my tenants' apartments -- one even used laundry detergent in their dishwasher. (My building is where all of the rich college students live.) I even explained to him the difference between dishwashing liquid and dishwasher liquid, too -- and yet, he went and did it anyway.
But that's all right, I guess. No harm, no foul. It's an easy fix, too -- you just need to throw in a cupful of some liquid fabric softener to break the surface tension of the bubbles so you can clear the suds out of the washer. And it definitely gave me a good laugh.
Bless him and his rich boy self. I love him dearly, but he definitely has a lot to learn about living in the real world.