True Calling

Well, it turns out that my true calling in life has nothing to do with rugby, nor the Pabst Blue Ribbon Brewing company. My aunt and grandma were coming up to visit, which I hate. Visits from relatives have increased dramatically since Jacy came home, and as much as I like wasting two hours sitting around chatting about how I'm doing, I find it's easier to drive to a supermarket parking lot and read a book, make phone calls, play with the laptop, etc. than sit around insisting that I'm doing fine and explaining to every relative over and over that I will not be attending any sort of Thanksgiving this year so we can all sit around, shake our heads and talk about how strange it is without Jay and Jean around.
Anyway, sitting in parking lots isn't my true calling. While I was in the parking lot, my buddy Kurt called and said Kerri, his fiance, was at the house they're remodeling if I wanted to meet over there to do some painting as we had discussed earlier. I drover over to the house, opened the back door trying not to mess up the drop cloth, and hear that Kerri is upstairs washing brushes out in the sink. I went into the dark living room and hid around the corner from the stairs, figuring I would surprise her. She came down the stairs and turned the other way, and as I ran up behind her, she screamed.
Not a startled scream, but a "bloody-murder straight out of a cheap horror flick" scream. She was like a wounded cornered rabbit. I had no idea such a small human could produce that amount of noise.

I want to hear it again, so I may become a serial killer. Or at least invade some homes.

Side note: We later discussed that she knew I was there, and that the scream was just instinct as she knew it was me running up behind her. The real question is...was the terror a result of being snuck up on, or knowing that she would be alone with me for upwards of half an hour?

Let he who hath understanding reckon....

THE NUMBER OF THE BEAST! 666 page views! However, if you're reading this, you, or someone like you, ruined it.

All Apologies

Left is now beginning to regret his decision to take his frustrations out on Right, as he neglected to consider that Right also takes care of some of the less desired tasks, mainly everything that takes place within a bathroom. He is continuing to help clean and dress Right and hopes (somewhat self servingly, I'm afraid,) for Right's full and speedy recovery.

He never saw it coming...

After never suspecting what Left was doing, Right suffered a near fatal blow earlier this evening while splitting kindling to get the coal stove fired up. Right was simply lending a hand, holding a piece of wood. Things had been moving rather quickly, with Jacy getting ready for bed, and Goody went against his better judgement of pausing to use the hatchet as a wedge with a hammer and carefully lined up the center of the 1.5" piece of oak, making sure Right tucked himself away as much as possible. Left, however, saw his opportunity and took it, hacking cleanly through a think clump of skin on Right's index finger, pausing for a second to emphasise the fact that the blade of the hatchet was now drawing a line through the curled digit.

Goody's reactions were mixed. While able to tolerate internet images of massive innards and gore, injuries to the hands have always bothered him. Upon withdrawing the hatchet, the initial inspection did not seem dire, until he peeled back the V-shaped flap to reveal striations of white indicating deep tissue. This lead him to believe that he should quickly make his way to the nearest hospital emergancy room, but quickly remembered that stitches could be installed hours after the cause, but a budding coal fire takes hours to rear, and the one he was building was catching on quick and would burn for days if properly managed. He then turned to his Boyscout/Rugby/Too drunk to seek medical attention medical training to clean and dress the slab. He realized that he had a full range of motion in the finger, and knew that this meant the had avoided damage to the ligiment/tendon portion of his finger. Furthermore, the tip of the finger had feeling, meaning the nerves had also remained intact. The blood loss was not overwhelming, and the tip has retained a healthy color, so bloodflow was also not hampered. These factors combined, he decided against a trip to the doctor, despite his newly gained health insurance. Besides, he would have had to look up if he was covered at Ephrata or Lititz, or if he would have to travel into Lancaster.

Released on his own recognizance, Left was unappologetic. "Let this serve as a warning," Left muttered. "Too long I've been stuck with all the taskwork: writing, drawing, all the fine motorwork, but as soon as something flashy comes along like throwing or opening a jar, Right comes barging in, finally deciding to quit lazing around in Goody's lap for a change."

Right, his index finger dressed in a loose gause wrap, declined to comment when asked if he planned to continue with his semi-ambidextrious ways.

Photo credit: Goody, who in a surprising move, decided to clean up the wound before retrieving his phone from the car.

Social Pariah

Yesterday, Saturday October 11th, I received zero emails. None. Not even from facebook.

randoms

I have a cat now. It's name is Loki, picked over "Head Trauma 1" and "General Tso." Little Miller's cousin gave it to me. Her husband is allergic to it, they had to get rid of it. I'm not sure how I got involved, I imagine it went something like this.

Tiana: "I have to get rid of my cat."
LM: "you know who doesn't want a cat? Goody."
Tiana: "Oh, let's give it to him!"

Jacy is excited though, as she is not the one laying on the floor trying to get it out from under her bed, and will not be emptying the litter box.

Black Gold

I think that might oil, but I'm firing up the coal stove. Sean is currently tending the fire in a rocking chair. I'm on the computer, DJing and drinking a Pabst ("a" meaning my 11th of the afternoon), I decided I should be drunk to start a fire and Sean sort of took over from there. Kind of like how I get drunk to cook and Sean usually takes over. So I guess Sean is firing up the coal stove, although I do split all the wood.

Not to badmouth the good people of Centralia, but Jesus H. Christos, they must've gone out of their way to start that fire. We've been at it for about 3 hours and have one glowing peice of coal...it's literally trying to set stone aflame.