Trust me, I’m a doctor.

8 Apr

I’m sitting here, sipping on a Coca Cola Cherry Zero, in my now-tidy hotel room/studio apartment-wannabe. Trent scurried out to get his hair cut, go to the post office, and run a few other errands, and I decided to stay back so we could both enjoy some solitude for once in what feels like three months of doing nothing, since the area we are living in Connecticut got hit by a storm last June, and they were still working that storm until the insurance companies got pissed because of the amount of unnecessary insurance claims being filed, seeing as there isn’t that much substantial damage left in the area. Therefore, we are just sitting on our hands, waiting for a ferocious storm with damaging hail and roof-ripping winds to tear through some other part of the United States so we can get out of Connecticut.

Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, I wish I were drinking a Dr. Pepper. Long ago, I gave up non-diet sodas, but I also spent 2 solid years taking shots of Hawkeye vodka and chasing/mixing it with Diet Dr. Pepper, so I’ve pretty much ruined any chance of ever enjoying a diet DP ever again. It’s a real shame. Dr. Pepper is one of the most delicious beverages on God’s green earth.

Dr. Pepper is strange in that it is only supremely satisfying when drunk from a can. A bottle or 2 liter of Dr. Pepper simply does not deliver the same punch of fantastic 23 flavors as advertised. Offer me an icy cold, almost slushy Dr. Pepper in an aluminum can though, and I’ll suck that down faster than you can say a monkey’s uncle.

I spent my morning filing my taxes, doing laundry, and then cleaning like a Merry Maid. Trent was out, and I had nothing to do. Then a spurt of domesticity hit me like a freight train, and I started bustling around, Lysol disinfectant wipes in hand, wiping and shining and cleansing household surfaces. I actually even cleaned the bathroom floor.

….with one of these:

That’s right. It was all that was available to me. I made do, because I am resourceful. I once made an artificial teat/bottle for a baby mouse out of a piece of plastic, a paper towel, some packing tape, and a can of Carnation milk. Moving forward.

Now the trash cans have been emptied, the counters cleaned and shined, the laundry done and put in its proper places, and the bed has been made. Now I’ve nothing to do.

In lieu of my new “schedule” (see above paragraph explaining my lack of job-duties currently), I’ve been staying up watching Netflix movies and back-to-back episodes of Modern Family until the wee hours of the morning, and then sleeping late into the morning/early afternoon. This morning I didn’t get out of bed until 11:30 a.m. I haven’t slept in like that since I was a beer-bonging, class-skipping alcoholic in college. My biological clock is being very strange, however. Every day for the past week, I have woken up at 4:23 a.m., 6:23 a.m., 9:21 a.m., and 10:21 a.m. every single morning. Not kidding. I wake up, roll over, and squint at the digital clock on my cell phone screen, shrug, and go back into my coma. Unfortunately I have to be up at 5:45 a.m. tomorrow morning to be ready to hop on a bus at 6:45 a.m. for a “field trip” to take a tour of the Owens-Corning factory. My day will be spent observing FiberGlas production and shingle ingenuity. I can hardly wait.


Kidding. I can wait all day long. Looks like I’ll be having Tylenol PM as an early dinner tonight, though.

In other disturbing news, I’ve found out that Connecticut doesn’t believe in a few things that really chap my ass. 1) Fat-free Miracle Whip, and, 2) even more alarming, Cadbury Mini Eggs.

On Easter Day, Trent and I went to four separate locations in a desperate search for a purple pouch of Cadbury Mini Eggs—a treat I have enjoyed every Easter since I had teeth (and maybe a few before that; I was into shit a lot as an infant). Our search was in vain. No Target, Wal-Mart, grocery store, gas station, or dollar general carried them. I’m not sure you people understand the intensity of the problem. This is like not being able to find candy corn on Halloween (which is gross anyway, and in no way would piss me off) or Christmas trees in December. It’s preposterous. I quickly texted my mother:

“S.O.S. – No Cadbury Mini Eggs in New England 😥 ”

The next day I called her to discuss some wedding plans. She answered with, “Oh! I just got done dropping a package of Cadbury Mini Eggs off at the post office for you. You should get it this week.” YES! My mom. She’s great. Her packaging and gift-giving skills are unparalleled. Not even Kris Kringle himself could tarnish or challenge her title.

On Friday, Trent y yo hop on a plane toward St. Louis for our friends’ Nick and Sarah’s wedding. Only a month and a half after that, it’ll be Tim and Melissa’s wedding in Key West, and then only two weeks after that, a wedding of my own. Woo! I’m getting really giddy. Send me gifts.

Well, I’m going to go take a nap. I’m really, really tired.

….Kidding. I slept enough last night to rejuvenate myself for the next fourteen days.

“Let me call you in a bit. I’m exchanging things for booze.”
-Cassie Schultz.


3 Responses to “Trust me, I’m a doctor.”

  1. Trent April 8, 2010 at 8:43 am #

    Interesting side note, after all that domesticity which was much appreciated by me. We came home the very next day after our field trip to New Jersey, to find a service notice from the hotels cleaning service staff explaining that they had fulfilled their weekly cleaning duties. Irony? You decide.

  2. cassiecares April 8, 2010 at 9:48 am #


  3. Mike Monroe April 12, 2010 at 8:08 am #

    I would have been agitated at the hotel.

    But having a teammate that LIKES to clean?


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