We're saved.

Can you smell the sarcasm?

I had my yearly review on Monday. I got the highest "marks" the lab boss would allow. In other words, my supervisor wanted to give me a four but the big boss assured her that three was sufficient ("really, really, really good employee"). Whatever. As long as my direct supervisor is happy with my performance, that's all that matters. I got a raise, too. It doesn't make a dent, but I guess it's better than nothing. I got praised for maintaining eye contact when we have staff meetings, which kind of threw me. My whole life I've had trouble looking people in the eye, not because I'm shifty but because I'm afraid of what I'll see in their expression. I've felt like a freak my entire life, and I don't want people to see that and judge me. I know. I have issues. Eh, there was other stuff, how I always get to work a half hour early and I hit the floor ready to work. In summary, I'm awesome but I'll never get paid accordingly because the economy and the giant corporation I work for SUCK.

Some of the girls brought food to work last night as an early birthday treat (for me). Rene got Voodoo Doughnuts for dessert. There were two vegan ones in there, which I took home for me and my sister.

I'm hoping to get tickets to the Winterhawks game tomorrow. I thought I heard about a deal where, if you go to the box office on game day, you can get two tickets for $16, plus a hat. I'm all over that shit. That is, unless I dreamed it. They're going to announce the rookie of the year and MVP, etc. tomorrow night. I think either Chris Francis or Nino should get the MVP, but what do I know?

I'm in a horrible mood. I need to call my therapist but I can't bring myself to waste $50 when I know I need to get Curly Joe's liver meds (which are $80) in a couple of days. I feel bad enough wasting money on hockey tickets, but it's my birthday on Sunday and all I want is to see one Hawks game. I haven't been to any this year, if memory serves. It usually doesn't.

Rodents Of Unusual Size? I don't think they exist.

As part of my job at the lab, I work with tissue. Organs. Tumors. Horse fetuses. Sometimes brains with the eyeballs still attached. And sometimes? Legs. Take last night, for instance. My coworker was complaining about how many histos she'd had to do the night before. It being my turn last night, I patted her on the shoulder and said, "Cheer up. The night is young. Maybe somebody'll bring in a leg."

Sure enough, I was slaving away at my station when D, our crazy Romanian driver, walked over and said, "Ketty, look at dees!" and started waving a two foot leg around like a baseball bat. I turned to my coworker and said, "See? Things are looking up already."

Curious as to what sort of creature used to be attached the leg, I scurried over to take a peek at the req form, and was surprised (and delighted) to see the species listed as "rat."

"Holy shit," I thought. "R.O.U.S.'s do exist!"

My hands crept over to the leg and started squeezing it gently, like a long, slightly rigid and in no way sterile roll of Charmin. Then I started reading the patient history and saw that the species was listed as "rat," but it was actually a wallaby named Wally. For those of you who don't know what a wallaby is: I suggest you eat a bowl of hair, because you are a dummy.

They're like tiny kangaroos. See?

Look! An albino cave Hoek Wallaby!


S'up, bitchezzzz?


Awwwwwwwwwww!

And I'm done for pictures. Googling just brings up shots of wallabies getting eaten by snakes, strung up by hunters or run over by cars.

Ok, gad. Wait. Ok. If you put "adorable" before "wallaby," it spits these out:

(I actually used to do this with ducklings.)




The end.

Sometimes, when I'm stuffing a leg into the box for shipping, I feel like Goldie Hawn in Overboard. You know, that scene where she's trying to cook a whole chicken in a pot, and she can't get the legs to cooperate? Like that.

I haven't eaten meat in 19 years (dairy in 15), so I find it amusing how often the jars of tissue in the lab resemble what my co-workers eat for lunch. My sister and I once discussed the difference between the two (dead tissue for eating and dead tissue for dissecting), and I think the conclusion was "cause of death." As in: there is no difference, except that the stuff in the jars is fixed in formulin so that a smart person can cut it up and find out what went wrong with the animal. The stuff between the hamburger buns is the same as the stuff in the jars. So when people make the "ew" face when someone mentions tofu, my eyes involuntarily roll skyward. Yeah. Bean curd is way more disgusting that the rotting flesh of a dead animal.

Ok, I've got to hit the hay. Lots to do before shipping Mom off to Florida tomorrow.

It only hurts when I move.

Not much to say, as I'm off to bed in a few minutes. Late, as always. Night shift sucks, but beggars can't be choosers. Got out of work before five this morning, which worked out because I was planning on stopping at Home Depot on the way home and buying some pellets. (We don't have a pellet stove; we have a wood burning stove for which we bought a pellet basket.)

I got there at 5:30 and there was no way in hell I was going to sit in my car for a half hour until it opened. So I went home. Rather, I went to the other Home Depot, about 10 minutes from my house. I figured by the time I got to that one, it would already be open. And I was right. I bought two bags of pellets and some starter gel and went home.

Once I'd lugged both bags to the front porch and gone inside, I let the dogs out and then prepared to do yoga. It's a new thing for me, this yoga, and I went into it grudgingly. I hate yoga. I have ADD. It's hard for me to just sit or stand and do nothing, but I've had a lot of back pain lately and I know that yoga can help. For the last two weeks, I have been doing pilates (Mon, Wed, Fri) and yoga (Tues, Thurs, Sat), and I think it's helping.

Ironically, the day I get the foot stool they ordered for me at work, the back pain comes back full force.

Anyway, did the yoga (only a half hour, since I was running late), inhaled some oatmeal and now I have to feed the minions and go to bed.

The Wings play the Oilers tonight; pretty sure the game starts at 6:30 here. I hope to catch some of it, though apparently the hamthrax has infiltrated Edmonton.

The Winterhawks are playing (who own) the Chiefs on Sunday, and I'm hoping to go. I work this Saturday and probably won't get home until 3 a.m., but the game doesn't start until 5:00. I'll just take the Max in and not have to worry about parking. Speaking of the Winterhawks, check this out:



Awwwwwwwwwwwww. The dog right at the very end looked like Curly Joe before he transformed into a hell hound.

Annnnd....goodnight.