What I should be doing is heroically saving lives here in the blood bank, but apparently all the lives are saved because there's pretty much nothing to do except routine maintenance on the instruments.
So what I actually am doing is reading a book, chatting with Lori online, and watching the clock. The most exciting (and icky) part of my day was seeing an elderly woman on the front sidewalk of the hospital go down like a sack of potatoes and break a hip. What's extra unfortunate about that it that the reason she was on the sidewalk in the first place was that she was waiting for her husband to get the car and pick her up, since she'd just been discharged from this very institution. I think she had about five minutes of freedom. It's sort of like walking out the prison gates and robbing the first person you see. Recidivism...it's not just for spelling bees.
And in the ongoing saga of our internal combustion acquisitions, Lori and I actually sprung for a brand new, never-been-owned-by-anyone-else lawn tractor this weekend.
I blame Dane.
He's like a Lawn Tractor Drug Pusher. He got us hooked on his big powerful mower with the automatic transmission and the cup holders, and my lowly 6 horsepower 40 year old John Deere with it's 30 inch deck seemed...well, emasculated. And then I began to crave the big lawn tractor. I wanted more...but Dane cut me off.
So we went out this weekend and sprung for a big virgin 20 horsepower lawn tractor with a 46 inch deck, automatic transmission and two, count 'em, TWO cup holders. The extra one's there in case I want to pick up hitchhikers, I guess. I hate to sound like a size queen, but my lawn tractor's bigger than your lawn tractor. My lawn tractor could whup your lawn tractor's ass, because your lawn tractor's a limp-wristed sissy faggot.
So now we're a whopping four car, three tractor family. We could participate in the little-known car/truck/tractor relay event in the Beijing Summer Olympics, which will be taking place in the
Olympic Giant Vulva in 2008. I could strap the baton onto the side view mirror (Ha! I said strap on!) and drive like a bat out of hell until I rear end the next vehicle, containing one of my daughters in a stylish NASCAR outfit advertising organic tampons and Suave shampoo. It'll be like the skeleton event or the biathalon...it's been slow to gain popular support, but when the public sees the potential for mayhem and gore, we'll be the next big thing...bigger than even Brangelina and their 70,000 children!
