I don't have much to blog about these days. It's hot, I have poison ivy, and oh yeah...it's hot. Real hot. Like burst into flames hot. Like melt the flesh from your skull like the Nazi in Raiders of the Lost Ark. That kind of hot. It is, in fact, so ungodly hot that I can't work on my truck. The tools are too hot to touch. If I could get the mower up to about 40 mph, I could maybe get the sweat to evaporate before it runs down my back and puddles up in my ass crack. However, I console myself by thinking that if I suddenly find myself lost on a desert island, I could wring out my jeans and survive on the life-sustaining water and salt, delicately flavored with eau du ass.
We're all about the bright side here in Nowhere, folks.
Ha! And speaking of the bright side...
I'm at work, pretending to, well...work. However, in between writing e-letters to my girlfriend, I've also been busy trying to get someone to use a unit of platelets I've got that expires at midnight. I've used my most winsome and charming Evie persona on the nice folks in ICU, surgery, and even ER observation. No dice. Suddenly, my platelets are about as popular as a 300 mL bag of maggots. I'm desperate. These things are like gold and at 12:01 a.m., this one goes in the trash.
So here I am, trying to figure out who to call next, when the blood banker at one of the podunkier hospitals in the hinterlands of Nowhere called and asked if I have a short-dated unit of platelets she can have tonight! Hallelujah! Praise...well...something! I thought about playing it cool, but in the end I professed my undying love for her and her facility and offered her a job. But I think I'm doing better; I didn't offer sexual favors this time. Although if she'd asked, I'd have done it. You know, in gratitude.
So the platelets are packed, the courier is on his way, and all is well.
But it's still hot.