Bernie Sanders Rulez!!!
(That has nothing to do with this post. It is merely a fact I wanted to share.)
Looks like, through the process of natural selection, my bloog is becoming a waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-og.
First, I've made a walking stick out of one of Jess's ski poles with a tennis ball impaled on the bottom of it to help me move around on my sandbag leg.
Bloog Intermission! Boo was having a hard time piecing together the concepts 'tennis ball' and 'not a toy,' so we sprayed the ball with Mrs. Meyer's lavender spray. If you've watched your share of The Dog "Whisper" ("your dog will thank you"-true), you know that Cesar frequently uses lavender scent to calm dogs, and it works in magical mystical wonderful ways every time. Well, Boo hates lavender, which we discovered a while back while trying to use a tiny, diluted amount rubbed on the underside of her dog bed to calm her. Boo could not fathom what she had done to deserve such a cruel punishment. Oh well. As Cesar likes to say, "Each case is different." (Also, "Remain calm and assertive, pack leaders, the Dog Whisper will be right back. Only on the National. Geographic. Channel.")
So, moving on, I gimped my tennisballskipole-sandbag-leg tripod to the doctor again today and had a much more productive visit, which was measured in needle pokes: 4. The first poke was in my sandbag knee. (This is known as a knee tap, which is like a spinal tap that does not go anywhere near 11-I think it might actually be stuck in the negative numbers.) The doctor drew 30ccs of what appeared to be cloudy lemon Pine Sol. For the visually inclined, let me once again lay it out there for you:
= (cloudy)
Weird. So they drew some blood (2 pokes worth), and gave me a butt-jection of antibiotics (1 poke). We. Shall. See. If you don't receive another eye-bleedingly self-absorbed pity post in the next few days, you may assume I'm dead and begin the lavish funeral arrangements you have no doubt already designed for me all across the country.
Looks like, through the process of natural selection, my bloog is becoming a waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-og.
First, I've made a walking stick out of one of Jess's ski poles with a tennis ball impaled on the bottom of it to help me move around on my sandbag leg.
Bloog Intermission! Boo was having a hard time piecing together the concepts 'tennis ball' and 'not a toy,' so we sprayed the ball with Mrs. Meyer's lavender spray. If you've watched your share of The Dog "Whisper" ("your dog will thank you"-true), you know that Cesar frequently uses lavender scent to calm dogs, and it works in magical mystical wonderful ways every time. Well, Boo hates lavender, which we discovered a while back while trying to use a tiny, diluted amount rubbed on the underside of her dog bed to calm her. Boo could not fathom what she had done to deserve such a cruel punishment. Oh well. As Cesar likes to say, "Each case is different." (Also, "Remain calm and assertive, pack leaders, the Dog Whisper will be right back. Only on the National. Geographic. Channel.")
So, moving on, I gimped my tennisballskipole-sandbag-leg tripod to the doctor again today and had a much more productive visit, which was measured in needle pokes: 4. The first poke was in my sandbag knee. (This is known as a knee tap, which is like a spinal tap that does not go anywhere near 11-I think it might actually be stuck in the negative numbers.) The doctor drew 30ccs of what appeared to be cloudy lemon Pine Sol. For the visually inclined, let me once again lay it out there for you:
= (cloudy)
Weird. So they drew some blood (2 pokes worth), and gave me a butt-jection of antibiotics (1 poke). We. Shall. See. If you don't receive another eye-bleedingly self-absorbed pity post in the next few days, you may assume I'm dead and begin the lavish funeral arrangements you have no doubt already designed for me all across the country.