I have a Tupperware container full of equine leg bones under my rolling kitchen-butcherblock-thing.
The bones make up a front leg and a hind leg, and they were taken from my surgery pony last winter after he was euthanized.
I'm soaking them in Dawn soap to remove the residual tissue so they can be dried and re-assembled into articulated limbs.
*crickets*
Yes, I would love to have a discussion with you about the moral/ethical implications of these statements, but first I would like to tell you about the incident with the Dawn soap.
Dawn soap is apparently the dish soap of choice for gradually removing tissue residue via soaking (according to our specimen preparator), so I've been soaking these bones in Dawn for quite some time. The Dawn needs to be changed occasionally.
So! One day while at the grocery store, I bought the economy-size gallon jug of Dawn in hopes of getting around to changing the soap. I left the Dawn in the back of my car for oh, three months or so. This is a thing that happens - I start a task in some small way, and then I get sidetracked while it waits patiently for me to remember about it.
This gallon jug of Dawn somehow opened itself in the backseat of my car and slowly infiltrated large areas of my backseat unbeknownst to me until yesterday. THAT must be why my car has been smelling faintly of artificial freshness.
cardiologist, about Olympic high diving:
"I can't imagine being a diver. All those flips and somersaults? I'd be catching my own vomit on the way down while simultaneously releasing a shart in my pants."
cardiologist, during a pleural tap:
"Why is this not working? I need some stopcockery going on here."
cardiologist, during an echocardiogram:
"Look, there's Fudgie the Whale! See, Fudgie is the left atrium, and the left auricle is his tail. Oh, this does not look good. Fudgie is a fat Fudgie."
cardiologist, during rounds:
"You see these two curves here that make up this valve? I call them ass cheeks. You should have symmetrical ass cheeks."
meanwhile, at this quietly excellent restaurant:
There are a couple of lesbians in their sixties or seventies eating dinner with their grandson. One is explaining to him that they are waiting to get married until gay marriage becomes legal according to the federal government.
She is describing her staunch resolve to hold out for nationwide marriage equality despite being able to legally marry in her state of residence. Her grandson wants to know if he can be the ringbearer in the wedding.
She is describing her staunch resolve to hold out for nationwide marriage equality despite being able to legally marry in her state of residence. Her grandson wants to know if he can be the ringbearer in the wedding.
minimalism and khakis:
Fact: I love minimalism primarily because I despise moving.
When I was in college, my parents (quite graciously, I might add. Hi, Mom!) came to help me pack all of my dorm room things into a storage pod after every year of school. Every year, I would say to myself, "Okay this time I will actually be mostly packed by the time my folks get here.".
Alas, every year, my mother would open the door to my room and say some permutation of, "WOW you have so much stuff. How does it all fit in here?". Sigh.
I'd always start packing while I was taking finals, which admittedly was not the wisest plan in the world. I'd pack the easy things first - books I never read, winter clothing, that giant array of crafty things on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, SO MUCH YARN, et cetera. This meant of course that all the annoying/oddly shaped things were the ones left to pack by the time my parents arrived.
Tangent! One year, I decided to store my stuff in the creepy basement of the house I lived in over the summer instead of using a storage pod. I'm not sure why I decided to do this, since one of my first experiences at college was bleach-staining my pants trying to salvage a new buddy's stuff that she'd stored downstairs...and an entire gallon of bleach had spilled on her things. Gah.
Anyways, the stuff stored in the "trunk room" had to meet various and sundry standards to avoid being thrown out over the summer. No storage of furniture was allowed, yet anything that could be packaged into a box was permitted. My mother constructed a large, awkward box for my papasan chair. When I praised her for cleverly skirting the rules, she said, "It's not sneaky - it's technical compliance!".
Once in vet school, I realized - hey, if I have less stuff, I will have less of it to move. The seemingly endless horrible dusty-handed, achy-armed, cobwebs-in-hair ordeal will not last as long. THIS IS AWESOME.
Anti-consumerism, tiny living, and simplicity are all well and good, but I kid you not when I say that this is the thing that got me on the minimalism train.
So, you know, now I have two pairs of khakis, which is usually fine. As a vet student on clinics, I can budge in enough time to do laundry approximately once a week.
However, sometimes it's rough when a dog explosively defecates all over your last clean pair of khakis (it's okay, it wasn't his fault). That's the moment when I fleetingly really want about eight pairs of khakis, all stain resistant and exactly the same.
When I was in college, my parents (quite graciously, I might add. Hi, Mom!) came to help me pack all of my dorm room things into a storage pod after every year of school. Every year, I would say to myself, "Okay this time I will actually be mostly packed by the time my folks get here.".
Alas, every year, my mother would open the door to my room and say some permutation of, "WOW you have so much stuff. How does it all fit in here?". Sigh.
I'd always start packing while I was taking finals, which admittedly was not the wisest plan in the world. I'd pack the easy things first - books I never read, winter clothing, that giant array of crafty things on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, SO MUCH YARN, et cetera. This meant of course that all the annoying/oddly shaped things were the ones left to pack by the time my parents arrived.
Tangent! One year, I decided to store my stuff in the creepy basement of the house I lived in over the summer instead of using a storage pod. I'm not sure why I decided to do this, since one of my first experiences at college was bleach-staining my pants trying to salvage a new buddy's stuff that she'd stored downstairs...and an entire gallon of bleach had spilled on her things. Gah.
Anyways, the stuff stored in the "trunk room" had to meet various and sundry standards to avoid being thrown out over the summer. No storage of furniture was allowed, yet anything that could be packaged into a box was permitted. My mother constructed a large, awkward box for my papasan chair. When I praised her for cleverly skirting the rules, she said, "It's not sneaky - it's technical compliance!".
Once in vet school, I realized - hey, if I have less stuff, I will have less of it to move. The seemingly endless horrible dusty-handed, achy-armed, cobwebs-in-hair ordeal will not last as long. THIS IS AWESOME.
Anti-consumerism, tiny living, and simplicity are all well and good, but I kid you not when I say that this is the thing that got me on the minimalism train.
So, you know, now I have two pairs of khakis, which is usually fine. As a vet student on clinics, I can budge in enough time to do laundry approximately once a week.
However, sometimes it's rough when a dog explosively defecates all over your last clean pair of khakis (it's okay, it wasn't his fault). That's the moment when I fleetingly really want about eight pairs of khakis, all stain resistant and exactly the same.
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