Harlem, Biohazards, Ferguson and Big White Cats

I don't have to go back to that asylum for a whole week. Thank goodness. It's not all bad there, honestly. The other day I was listening to the radio when "Holla Back Girl" came on. My office mate heard what was playing and came over to my cubicle, dancing about as if she had some strange jungle illness and had forgotten her meds. As she sang along, I thought I heard something strange.

"What did you just say?"

"Oh I love this song, I sing it with my girls all the time in the car," she says, dancing around.

I listened closely, then realized what she was singing.

"I ain't no Harlem black guuuuuuurl"

"No....no you're not."

Earlier today I was in another office, trying to find out why in the name of all that is holy we couldn't get this one order out the freakin' door, when my boss came flying in there, pale as a ghost and gripping one hand with the other, blood dripping down his arm.

"I need your help... hurry."

I asked him, "What did you do? Do you need me to run you down to the clinic for stitches?" I mean, from the looks of it, he'd surely lopped the end of his finger off or something.

"No.. it just won't stop bleeding, do something."

I went out to the tool crib and got some gauze and tape, the whole time with him following behind me instead of sitting down like I told him to, leaving his little trail of blood. My brief career as an EMT-I is well known around the office, so I've become sort of the unofficial "school nurse." I got him to sit down and I took a deep breath, preparing myself for all sorts of yucky, bloody gore as I told him to let me see. He peeled the towel back to reveal... a tiny cut. I felt really stupid wrapping that miniscule slit with 2x2 gauze and tape, but it didn't occur to me that all we'd need was a band-aide. By the time I got done with him, he looked like an amputee.

Bless his heart.

The Amazon is loading the dishwasher, I've got chili started on the stove and I don't have to get up for a damned thing tomorrow. Life is looking better already.

I'm getting excited about leaving Friday, ya'll have no idea how bad I need to get away from here. Well, maybe you do. I don't have any concrete plans for the weekend, other than Craig Ferguson at The Orleans theater Saturday night. He's promised that his Vegas show is chock full of smutty humor and I'm sure I won't be disapointed.

I don't plan on venturing out too much in the heat of the day (115 degrees??? That's just nuts.) but I plan on hitting the sidewalk after dark. During the daytime hours, I plan on taking the (hopefully air conditioned) shuttle over to the strip where I can pop in at the Mirage to see Siegfried and Roy's white tigers on exhibit. There's a lion exhibit at the MGM (also inside) as well. I know there will be no shortage of things to oooo and aaah over, and I know I'm going to feel like a total hillbilly while I'm there.