This won't hurt a bit...

So while everyone else is muggle-deep in Harry Potter's bidniss, I'm spending my quality time at work. (I might as well come out and tell you all that I didn't make it past book 4. It's good stuff, really it is. Stop judging me. I just fell into that category of people who have nothing against HP, liked the movies alright but just didn't get all wacky-wizard for the books -- my breaking point was book 4. And I'm ok with that. Stop judging me. I've been judged all weekend by the Betrothed, who without a jealous look from me, spent all weekend in bed with Harry. In the end, I think they just decided to stay friends.)

Backstory:cause this won't be funny without the explanation. And, actually, it still probably won't be funny. The one other hospital employee who I know reads this will sit back in her seat and howl. The rest of you will stare quizzically at your screens. The hospital has recently instituted a new policy -- Code Walker (advertised to the staff as "Code Walker: Where are you?" -- which I call "Code Walker: Texas Ranger"). Wandering elders are put in special bright green gowns (differing from the gowns of the more sedentary, stationary sick people at the hospital) so that on the off chance they mosey away from where we expect them to be, we can call a "Code Walker" and have their description and name announced over the hospital intercom. Basically it means -- look for the old dude in green and hey, couldja coax him back up here?

While joining some fellow coworkers to give a difficult patient a bath, most of us donned patient gowns over our scrubs to keep from getting messy. Because I can't take most things seriously, I put on the green gown. It got the laughs I wanted it to. Which was good for my humor-ego.

One of the more pioneering nurses took a picture on his contraband-during-work-hours cellphone and sent it to me.

Not funny to you -- seriously funny to me. Gowned, gloved, strangely looking mid-sneeze and giving a lame thumbs up.

Holy crap -- I love my job.

Seems that all my blog buddies are on summer hiatus. That's ok. But I mean, really, how am I supposed to know the neat details of your everyday life? Pick up the phone and actually call you?! I can't really talk, though, see, cause I've been on my own starting-work-planning-a-wedding hiatus myself. So we're all forgiven.

And speaking of that wedding. It sure is creeping up on all of us. Maybe not you so much. Kinda on ME actually. Oh yeah, and the Betrothed too -- who in a few shorts months will need some other clever moniker for blogging purposes. I'll be honest. Getting him a new blog name isn't high on my list of things to accomplish in the next two months. He doesn't read this anyway. He sure doesn't know what he's missing. Maybe he does.

In all honesty, the wedding planning is, dare I say, pretty easy. We've had over two years to make decisions, buy things, reserve people and places. There is little left to do that I can't PayPal on the internet, get in one big trip to Michael's or finish up in this weekend's trip to the Williamsburg Pottery Factory (aka: Little Mexico.. seriously, have you ever BEEN there?). So I don't blog to complain and be all bridezilla on you.

I blog about a wedding we went to this past weekend. An old highschool chum of the Betrothed. Nice guy, really. I encountered him at the reunion last year. She's nice too, even though I'm pretty sure she carries a pink glitter pen with her at all times and has a serious stash of stickers and Precious Moments figurines in a curio cabinet somewhere. And I don't roll like that. And if I did, I wouldn't tell you. Ever.

So Saturday we get all duded up and head out to AMISH COUNTRY, PA. It would have made a better story to say that she was Amish, but the story looses nothing to tell you that the ceremony was at an old clapboard Baptist church IN Amish country. Unfortunately for the Betrothed, he has never seen Harrison Ford's 1980's classic "The Witness" (and clearly has not spent any amount of quality time watching movies on the USA channel..) and so my numerous -- and I mean numerous -- references and quotes from said movie as we drove down the dusty road served only to confuse and piss him off. ("Four-thirty! Time for milking!".... "I'm dying to know if any of them have some wrecked volkswagon in one of those garages and are romancing the hot Amish girl by playing the radio..."). When we arrived to the church 45 minutes early, I persuaded him to continue down the road so that I could shamelessly stare and wave at more Amish people and excitedly squeal at my the viewing of my first Amish buggy en-route. We turned around when we hit gravel. (Because you aren't anywhere you want to be anymore if you hit gravel. It leads to no where good. At least no where that smells good. I'm a city girl. Or at least a suburban girl. I don't DO gravel. )

The wedding was nice (if not very purple and a minister who needed a very serious lesson in comedy before attempting it in their ceremony). The reception was nice (if not very purple with mediocre cake and an obnoxious DJ). I reserved my normal wedding-reception excitement (wine-dancing-cake-dancing-wine) on our way to the hall as I knew no one at this wedding except the Betrothed -- and the groom (who I knew barely and I figured might object to spending the evening entertaining me..).

It was mediocre cake, but it made for an awfully strange reunion with another old HS friend of the Betrothed. Both commented on their inability to run for office now.

My fears were dashed away as soon as I got to know some new friends at Table #13 -- the awesomest table at the reception. Table #13 stuck together, man. None of us knew anyone else there and that is what bonded us together. We cracked on the poorly dressed, the jellyfish dancers and the sloppy drunks.

Before we knew it, Table #13 was dancing as a table. We decided to photo document it. The Betrothed cleverly decided to bring the magic of the table to the dance floor with our actual table number.

It was basically the Betrothed and I taking odd pictures of the #13 in different places.
Huh. Seemed funny at the time.

I mean, yeah, he was with us as a 13, but like, woah.

Who brought THIS dude?

And the polka dot dress was way cute sans sweater. But, sadly, I lost a button during the Charlie Brown Cha-Cha Electric Slide song and so for modesty's sake, I opted for the sweater.

So -- now I blogged. It's your turn. Go.

(Title: A little throw-back to The Tom Green Show, for those of you who care to remember or admit to watching it.)

I make a sincere attempt to not use this blog to be preachy. Sometimes I can't help myself (*cough* donate blood and fill out an advanced directive and donate your organs *cough*) and I admit that. I feel that this entry might be one more of those times.

Let me start off by telling you a little more about my love affair with Al Gore. A year ago I thought that I was in touch with the environment. I thought I was sincerely making my efforts. Then, like so many of you, I saw "An Inconvenient Truth" and was truly moved. Truly moved. I was shocked by the very inconvenience of that truth, but I was also scared to death of the damage we are inflicting on our planet -- a planet I had every intention of my children and grandchildren getting a go at. I filled up my bike tires. I made an extremely concerted effort to reduce the trash that the Betrothed and I put out twice a week -- and to up what we can reuse or recycle.

My older sister informed me that those following the ways of Al Gore -- doing THEIR PART to save the planet -- were following what is now known as "The Gorical". It isn't about browbeating your coworkers, it's about taking home that soda can from your office and recycling it if your office doesn't -- I'll admit I will grab someone else's soda can or water bottle from the trash to pop it into the recycle bin. It's about using tupperware instead of new sammich bags everyday. Washing plastic utensils instead of getting new ones each day. Using the fabric grocery bags instead of the plastic ones. In our house, and now in my Bestie's, when we have an item to recycle, it is "to be Goricaled" or to be "given to the Gorical".

My recycling efforts stepped up from my soda and soup cans and plastic water bottles to everything plastic that I could wash and recycle. Yogurt cups, McDonald's Parfait cups, the plastic thing the angel food cake comes in.

And then I was directed to the recycling guide in our community book. (If your community recycles, check our their policies. I learned that mine accepted junk mail, old phone books, magazines and catalogs -- all to be recycled. Of course, shred the parts that have your name on them. It is just another great way to reduce your trash and lessen your "footprint".) Ours stated that they only accept 1's and 2's -- plastic things with necks and screw on tops. And everything else plastic that I was recycling was slowing down the recycling process because it had to be sifted out and trashed -- reducing the recycling efforts. We, as a nation, can only recycle 1's and 2's?! Look around your house. Your apartment. Your office. What percentage of the plastic that you see has a neck with screw on top? Are you recycling it? Are you aware of what becomes of the plastic of the 3-7 marking that is not recyclable? Did you know that that has every piece of plastic that has EVER BEEN MANUFACTURED is STILL on the planet? We cannot destroy it. And only 3-5% of all that plastic is recycled. Plastic is an amazing thing, TO BE SURE, it has changed our lives, improved our safety, saved our money, but doesn't it strike you that we must be more conscious of what happens to it? Just because we can manufacture something simply and cheaply doesn't mean that we should?

I was directed to an article that has entirely changed my thoughts on plastic -- if, indeed, I ever had any real thoughts on plastic. I urge you to take five minutes and read about exactly where our plastic is going and what plastic is doing to us health-wise. (Because, please, you're at work reading blogs. I know you. I think you have a few moments to read something substantial like an article -- you've already boned up on CNN.com and WashingtonPost.com.) I'm not advocating a ban on plastic - hardly. I'm merely suggesting that we find ways to avoid plastics that we cannot recycle and increase our recycling of the ones that we can. And maybe the geniuses among us can figure out how to recycle 3-7. Or maybe how we can eliminate 3-7 and have all plastics be 1-2. (Shout out to Whole Foods -- who have abandoned plastic deli containers for cardboard.)

If you feel comfortable, pass along the article to your friends and coworkers -- post it in the lounge. Surely, most people are unaware of this issue. People need to realize the value of doing "their part" -- doing what they can.

Because enough people doing "their part" could be a whole lotta people and parts.

Oh, and while you're at it. Donate blood and your organs and fill out an advanced directive. Thank you, that is all.

P.S. I *know*! What happened to Cathy, man? She's all green-this and recycle-that? She went from smoking Pepsi drinker to running planet saver. Cha. -- Well, I can assure you, no trees have been hugged in the writing of this message.