catslash: (Malcolm and Nicola - car tantrum)
( Jan. 10th, 2010 02:39 pm)
A interesting meme going around:

If you could have me write a story specifically for you, what would it be like? Fandom, characters/pairing, genre, plot elements, kinks (if applicable): what's your ideal story? from me?

I may or may not write you a snippet. I promise nothing.

I would also like to note that my job is okay, but my manager sucks, all we do on his days off is stand around talking about how much we hate him, and half the reason I haven't quit is because I'm afraid I'll miss the uprising where we all stand in a circle around him and explain to him the many ways in which he is invited to go fuck himself. In re: icon - I'd rather work for Malcolm Tucker. (My manager is more like a fifty-percent-less-skeevy Steve Fleming.)
catslash: (jazzhands of despair - credit copperbadg)
( Jan. 10th, 2010 07:21 pm)
My dad is still in the hospital, and thanks to my work schedule, this was the first day since Tuesday that I could get out to visit him.

And you know what, I know this is a seriously played out argument, but here's the thing: the nurse took his blood sugar and told him firmly that he needed to eat his dinner, and then like twenty minutes later, they brought in one of the less appetizing meals I've seen in my life. He ate what he could, and I tried to get him to eat some more, but man, it's hard to argue with the simple fact that he was chewing that last bite of dry-ass turkey I convinced him to take like two minutes later because he couldn't fucking swallow it. It was a little frustrating.

. . . I did get some lulz from the "cranberry sauce," though. It took us a minute to find it; it was listed in the nutritional information, but Dad was like, "I don't see any cranberry sauce." Eventually, I spotted it:



I hadn't seen it before because I'd assumed it was a thing of jam to go with the roll. Which, really, why not just call it cranberry jam? (Those tiny letters below "cranberry" say "imitation flavor," by the way.) Why get a person's hopes up?

Dad wasn't too amused, but I laughed and laughed. And took a picture with my cell phone, with the spoon included for scale (and my dad's full name blocked out with the powers of my super-basic graphics program). He was even less amused when I got him to try it after tasting it myself; I honestly thought it tasted fine, but then I don't much like cranberry sauce, so perhaps I was not the best judge. Apparently it was pretty gross - the face Dad made reminded me of my baby brother's the first time Mom gave him applesauce.

(And the whole time we were watching Anthony Bourdain eat awesome things involving red meat on No Reservations, which I think in retrospect did not help make Dad's meal any more appealing to him.)

And thus concludes my contribution to the well-explored territory of Hospital Food Fail.
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